


Invisible Touches

by pukajen



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Merthur - Freeform, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-01 15:43:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10924938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pukajen/pseuds/pukajen
Summary: Merlin's magic is revealed and as Arthur rages, Merlin fades before his eyes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I got paired up with the amazing whimsycatcher and was thrilled. The art that inspired me is amazing. Please head over to whimsy's page and leave glowing feedback.
> 
> thanks a million times over to prime-meridian for all the betas, the answering my super random questions, and for offering up helpful advice and cheer-leading. Also, for getting me into this fandom.
> 
> Note from whimsycatcher: Pukajen wrote such an amazing story to go with my artwork! The scenes are full of emotion and tantalizing details. It's hard to choose a favourite! I knew what I drew came with some conceptual challenges, but she handled them so much more creatively than I could've imagined! Thank you! ❤ And much love to the mods as well! This fest is such a delight for me, I'm so glad to participate again. I strive to make art that inspires others, and what a wonderful thing when beautiful new fics can come out of that inspiration... for our everlasting Merlin fandom to enjoy!
> 
> Due to life, traveling in the UK, and cyber attacks my posting schedule is a bit off and chapter 7 is in beta and chapter 8 is getting my final tweaks before it goes off to beta, this story is, however, basically finished. I hope to have the last two chapters up in the next week.

[](http://s880.photobucket.com/user/arT_Tard/media/Whimsycatcher_Prompt3.jpg.html)

Though he’s frozen in place, with just a glimpse of what’s to come, Arthur knows that he's never felt such betrayal before, so much pain. The horrible thought crosses his mind that losing his father hadn't hurt like this.

Still panting from a fight that should have left him dead, Arthur stares at Merlin in horrified disbelief. The gold is gone, but Arthur doesn't think that he will ever again be able to look at Merlin and not see it. Not see the treachery, the lies.

Years of lies.

Arthur can't get beyond the fact that Merlin has magic. From the efficiency with which he dispatched the nine bandits, Merlin has had a lot of practice.

Years of practice; both of his magic and his lies.

“Arthur—”

“Shut up!” Arthur says through the anger that's engulfing him and thankfully shoving aside the shattering of years of trust and friendship. “Just shut up! I don't want to hear you.” Despite not wanting to, Arthur can see the hurt infusing Merlin's face, the pain in his eyes. “I don't want to look at you!”

Can't look at Merlin. If he does, Arthur fears that he might start hitting Merlin and never be able to stop.

Merlin opens his mouth again, but nothing comes out. And that's probably for the best, because there are no words that could ever excuse the years of lies. 

There's a shift in the air and Arthur wonders if it's Merlin gathering his magic and Arthur has no idea what Merlin is going to do. Memory erasing perhaps. Mind control? 

“Stop it now!” Gripping the hilt of his sword tightly, Arthur raises it knowing that he has no true defense against magic .

Before he can decide what to do, Merlin starts to fade before Arthur's eyes.

Rage turns his body hot and his mind cold. That Merlin chooses to hide this way infuriates Arthur beyond all reason.

Not certain that he can trust himself a moment longer, Arthur mounts Hengroen and rides as fast as he dares towards Camelot with Llamrei doing her best to keep up. He'll have to send someone to retrieve the mare as it's not her fault that her (former) rider is a traitor.

# # #

No matter how much Merlin urges Llamrei on, he know that she'll never be able to keep up with Hengroen. After the hundredth or so time he'd begged Arthur to listen, to wait, Merlin gave up and grimly urged Llamrei to a speed she rarely had to maintain.

Maybe if he lets Arthur gallop ahead, some of the anger will burn off enough for Merlin to be able to apologise, to explain. Though Merlin has no idea how to make Arthur understand.

The look of betrayal on Arthur's face hurt beyond anything Merlin thought possible. The cold, shuttered way Arthur ignored him, intentionally leaving Merlin behind rips at Merlin.

Arthur isn't in the stables when Merlin gets there, but Hengroen has been unsaddled and is being cooled down by Pete. As quickly as possible, Merlin starts to unsaddle Llamrei. When Pete pointedly ignores Merlin's request for help, Merlin starts to worry that maybe Arthur has already called for his arrest.

But, that can't be true Arthur would never do that to him. Then the look of fury and hurt on Arthur's face swims before Merlin's eyes.

“Well, no one has come to arrest me and they know I'm back,” Merlin mutters to himself trying to reason that Arthur wouldn't actually burn him. No one has been put to death for witchcraft since Uther's death eleven months ago. Actually, it had been more than a year since the last execution of any sort.

Before Merlin can pull the saddle from Llamrei, Pete walks up to her and pets her gently.

“Let's get you cooled down, my pretty.” And without another word, Pete takes the saddle off and leads Llamrei away. Hengroen wickers softly in greeting as Merlin hurries off to see if he can get Arthur to at least shout at him.

# # #

Merlin catches sight of Arthur as Arthur is running up the stairs to the castle, though he seems to have been waylaid by Gwaine.

“But where is Merlin?”

“I said, leave it be!” Arthur shoves passed Gwaine and into the castle with Gwaine trailing closely behind.

Mustering the last of his energy, Merlin puts on a burst of speed trying to catch up to them. It isn't until he's on the stairs up to Arthur's chambers that he succeeds.

“Damn it, Gwaine, I said that I don't want to ever hear his name spoken again,” Arthur snarls with such cold disgust that Merlin freezes in this tracks.

“If something has happened to Merlin, we need to—”

There's a sound of a scuffle and Merlin inches up the stairs until he can see Arthur, fists clench, crowding Gwaine into the wall.

“I gave you an order,” Arthur says, voice low and deadly, “and as your King, I expect to be obeyed.”

“Yes, Sire.” Gwaine stands there, eyes downcast, bristling with thwarted worry and rage. Though there is only an inch different in height between them, Arthur has the mantel of cold fury and authority making him seem much larger.

“You are never to speak of him to me again,” Arthur orders, glaring at Gwaine. “I don't ever want to hear his name, see his face, or in any way know about him. If anyone should defy me on this, they'll be put in the dungeon, no matter their rank.”

Not waiting for a response, Arthur storms away leaving Gwaine staring after him with a look of bewilderment, anger, and worry gracing his features.

Figuring that he can try and explain later, Merlin runs by Gwaine without a word. That Gwaine doesn't call after him hurts Merlin, but then again, Arthur was very emphatic about his orders. Though that had rarely stopped Gwaine in the past.

Years of chasing after Arthur means that Merlin manages to slip into the King’s chambers just as he is slamming the door. Merlin has a brief moment to wonder at both Arthur's strength and that of the door before squaring his shoulders and trying to find the right words. (Not that he has any idea of what those words should be. Merlin tried the whole ride back and all he could come up with was 'sorry'.)

Arthur stops in the middle of the room, fine tremors running throughout his whole body, hands fisted so tightly that his knuckles have turned white.

“Arthur?” Merlin asks, voice low and filled with worry.

This time it's more than a tremor, though not quite a shudder that shakes Arthur's solid frame.

Slowly, Merlin walks up to Arthur, keeping out of striking distance; not that he really thinks that Arthur will hit him, but he might very well grab him and drag him down to the dungeons. (It's a place Merlin has been fortunate enough to stay out of since Uther died.)

When he's standing in front of Arthur, Merlin sees that Arthur's eyes are screwed shut.

“I'm sorry,” Merlin whispers.

This time it is a shudder and Arthur's breath whooshes out then hitches on the inhale. Any other time, Merlin would have run to Arthur, tried to touch him, regardless of the respective ranks – not that Merlin has ever truly allowed the fact that Arthur is royalty and he a peasant to come between them.

Now, it's his magic (Arthur's knowledge of it) that keeps them apart. Ironic, considering how often his magic is what has kept them together.

Squaring his shoulders, Arthur opens his eyes and proceeds to very efficiently strip out of his hunting clothes, completely ignoring any of Merlin's attempts to help as he discards his clothing around the room.

Defeated when Arthur doesn't even bother throwing his sweat-soaked undertunic at him, Merlin slumps against the wall by the wardrobe. Arthur may strip quite happily, but his court clothes are always more fiddly and he prefers to have Merlin make sure everything is done correctly.

Naked (and fuck, isn't that a sight), Arthur goes to the wardrobe and flings open the door. Merlin barely manages to scramble back in time to avoid getting smacked. In the process he manages to trip over his own feet and fall to the floor; a sharp pain stabbing in his right arse cheek.

Normally, this would be when Arthur would make some sort of disparaging comment about Merlin's lack of coordination or inability to master staying upright, but today he doesn't even bother to look in Merlin's direction.

Heart sinking, Merlin wonders if he might not be able to fix this. If their destinies will be forever twined but that they will never speak again. That Merlin will have to watch close, but hidden. Never touching, never being heard, never being seen as Arthur lives his life and fulfills his destiny.

“Arthur, please, I know you're angry at me,” Merlin starts, standing just out of arm's reach (just in case), “but you have to know that I would never hurt you. Hurt anyone.” There's a growl from Arthur and Merlin can't decide if that's an encouraging sound or an 'I'm at the end of my tether and going to throw you in the dungeons and then maybe banish/hang/behead you sound. “Well, anyone that doesn't deserve it. Not that I get to decide who deserves it. Except, I kind of do when they're trying to kill us and even then, it's not like I kill them. Well, rarely, and only when there's no other choice. I would never hurt anyone who wasn't trying to hurt you.”

By the time Merlin's brain catches up to his tongue, Arthur is fully dressed and has yet to look in Merlin's direction. Though, Arthur hasn't yelled at him or had him arrested, so Merlin takes that as a good sign.

Figuring that the best thing now would be to carry on, Merlin stoops down to pick up Arthur's discarded tunic; the material is still slightly warm and Merlin has to suppress the urge to bury his face in it. (Not that he does that. Well, not all that often. And never in Arthur's presence.)

Arthur's back is to Merlin, shoulder tense, head bowed. Merlin wants nothing more than to go to him, to cajole and comfort and listen, but the last thing Arthur seems to want right now is to hear from Merlin. There's a tug deep inside him and Merlin can feel his magic wanting to reach out and comfort; it's not the first time he's felt this, but it is the worst possible time for it to happen. 

Sighing, Merlin focuses himself and turns to pick up the rest of Arthur's clothing and catches an odd movement out of the corner of his eyes. Bracing for an attack, Merlin is stunned when he sees nothing. And he should because he's standing in front of Arthur's mirror, but there's no him. Arthur's tunic falling to the floor, sure. Arthur's room, no problem. Not him.

Gaping, Merlin walks up the mirror, but his hand goes through it as if pushing through half-frozen water. Heart racing, mind blank, Merlin gives the mirror a good shove, but only manages to stumble through and bump into the wall on the other side.

Which makes no sense at all. If he goes through the mirror, he should go through the wall as well.

In scared frustration, Merlin punches the wall, and that hurts, but his hand does sink up to his wrist in stone. It scrapes and tears pulling it out, and his hand is red and grazed.

The sharp snap of the door closing jars Merlin from his shock. Walking around the mirror (he's not walking through things if he can help it), Merlin looks frantically around the room only to find it empty.

Slowly he walks over to the shirt he dropped and bends down to pick it up. This time his fingers move the fabric slightly, but eventually pass through.

“Shit!” Shaking, Merlin tries again to pick up the shirt, and a third time, a fourth, and then he's frantically scrabbling at it with no success save scratching his nails on the stone floor.

Breath coming in gasps, body shaking, Merlin stands and stumbles over to the heavy oak door. He can feel thee cold metal of the handle, but he can't grasp it. Merlin looks at his hand, bruises starting to show through the small beads of blood and speculates if wood would be better or worse and what would happen if he tries to force his whole body through the door.

He wonders how long Arthur is going to be and what will happen when he comes back. If Arthur might not have been ignoring him so much as not being able to see or hear him. If anyone had been able to see or hear him since he got back to Camelot.

Spots dance before Merlin's eyes as his mind races in circles trying to figure the hows and whys when the door suddenly opens and Arthur comes back into the room.

“Arthur?”

This time when Arthur ignores him, Merlin moves to stand in his path and Arthur brushes passed without slowing down, not reacting in anyway when Merlin stumbles back on instinct.

“Arthur, please, can you see me?” Merlin asks, voice clogged with tears. “Please.”

Not even by the smallest flinch does Arthur react and Merlin discovers something more terrifying than Arthur hating him forever; Arthur not knowing Merlin is even there.

With a strangled cry, Merlin flees through the door Arthur left open. Tears blurring his vision, Merlin makes his way to Gaius' chambers, trying with less and less hope to get anyone to acknowledge him.

The blacksmith is leaving Gaius' and Merlin manages to slip past before the door closes.

“Gaius!” Merlin calls out, throat raw from his failed attempts to get anyone to notice him. And this time isn't any different; Gaius continues to tidy up his work table, muttering softly to himself.

It's the utter normality of it that finally cracks what little control Merlin has and he sinks to the floor, tears streaming down his face, body shaking, wondering how the fuck he's going to fix the mess his life has become.


	2. Chapter 2

The crash still ringing in his ears, Arthur sits bolt upright in bed, heart racing, braced he yet sees the threat.

“What the hell are you doing?” Morgana demands, storming over to the foot of his bed.

While it wasn’t quite the attack Arthur’s befuddled mind was expecting, it’s an attack nonetheless. One, judging by the way Morgana is standing all but vibrating with anger, far more dangerous than a simple attempt on his life.

“I was sleeping,” he grumbles, rubbing eyes gritty from lack of sleep. Arthur wants to point out that it’s far from proper for her to be in here, secret sister or no, he is after all the king and should command some form of respect. However, he holds his tongue at the fire in Morgana’s eyes.

“Don’t play with me, Arthur.”

“I’m not. I was sleeping until you stormed in without knocking.” Considering that the sun was past the horizon when he finally drifted off, the last thing he wants to do is deal with Morgana in a snit.

The reason for his lack of sleep has the events of the day before crashing down on him: the unwinnable fight, Merlin’s eyes gold and horribly beautiful, Merlin disappearing before Arthur’s eyes.

“Are you listening to me?” Morgana’s voice cuts through the memories.

“I’m trying not to,” Arthur says, voice rough and he hopes that Morgana blames sleep rather than emotion. 

“I want you to tell me why the hell you’re sleeping while Merlin is missing.”

“He’s not missing.” Arthur doesn't want to know where Merlin is as Arthur doesn't think that he has enough self-control to stay away.

“Well, he sure isn’t anywhere in the castle!”

“Try the tavern,” Arthur shoots back flippantly, glaring up at her.

Deciding that enough was enough, he shoves the cover offs and pushes himself out of bed.

“For all you claim Merlin drinks, Gwaine rarely sees him at the tavern.”

“Yet another lie,” mutters Arthur.

“A lie? From Merlin?” The snort of laughter should be unbecoming in the chatelaine of the castle, but isn’t. There is very little Morgana could do to be inelegant; even when she’s being an insubordinate harpy. 

“Yes, Morgan, Merlin is a liar.” Something inside Arthur cracks at saying that out loud. At stating so plainly that the person Arthur considered the most trustworthy, the most loyal among all of those he knew was such a good liar that he had concealed magic, strong, powerful magic, for years.

“What could Merlin, of all people, possibly have to lie about?” Morgana asks, incredulous. “Did you discover that he’s been not polishing your armour in precisely the way you want? Was he napping when he said he was with Gaius because you run him ragged? Did he finally tell you–”

“Enough!” Arthur yells. “I’m done with this conversation.” Turning his back on Morgana, he makes his way over to his wardrobe. 

“Well, I’m not!” 

“Yes, you are. I let you have more leeway than many others would,” Arthur says, low and cold, “but this is it. We are not to discuss Merlin any more.”

“Arthur, it’s Merlin. He’s missing–”

“He’s not missing, he’s just not here.” Raising a hand to stave off further argument, Arthur glares at Morgana with all the anger and frustration he feels. “I’m done discussing him. Now, leave me to get dressed.”

Returning his look ten fold, Morgana storms from the room, slamming the door on her way out.

Rage, hurt, and worry churn inside Arthur with no real outlet. The reality of Merlin lying to him for so many years is nearly incomprehensible. In the beginning, lying made sense, but once they had come to trust each other, become true friends, once his father had died…

While Arthur hadn’t overturned the laws about magic being punishable by death, nor had he had anyone put to the pyre. 

And, he would never have let Merlin burn. The very thought caused bile to rise up in his throat. 

Why couldn’t Merlin have trusted him? What else was Merlin lying about? Hiding from him.

With nowhere for his frustration to go, Arthur punches the wall next to his wardrobe. Pain shoots up his arm, hot and fierce and briefly overtaking the emotional turmoil, but then they meld together and misery floods his body. 

Perfect, now he’ll have to deal with the mess of his hand. 

Not wanting to face Gaius, Arthur calls for a servant. 

# # # 

It’s not the first time that Merlin has woken up propped up against a hard surface with no blanket, body aching, stomach rumbling, eyes burning, arse numb. As such, it takes his foggy brain a couple of moments to recall the where and whys. 

When he does, hurt and despair wash over Merlin, jarring him into full consciousness.

The looks of absolute rage and betrayal on Arthur’s face when the knowledge of Merlin’s magic had sunk in is something that still causes Merlin’s heart to stutter. Then the memory of being invisible, of not being able to get anyone to notice him, of being unable to touch anything has his heartbeat racing and his breath hitching. 

Getting shakily to his feet, Merlin tries to stretch out the kinks as he goes to Gaius’ work table and tries to pick up an apple, but his hand passes through it. There’s some resistance, as if he’s pushing up stream, but he can’t grasp it. Nor, when he leans down, can he take a bite of it. 

Hunger is relegated to the bottom of his long list of concerns as terror starts to wrap itself around his frame; muscles clenching, magic roiling. 

That gives Merlin the idea of trying to move the apple with his magic; it won’t solve the not being able to eat problem, but maybe he’ll be able to communicate and get help. Blaming years of suppressing his magic and the emotional upheaval of the day before for not trying, Merlin tries to calm himself as his magic can be unpredictable when he’s upset.

Gathering himself, Merlin tries to fling the apple off the table with this magic, but nothing happens. 

“Fuck!” Merlin shouts, voice trembling, tears of frustration and fear make his eyes burn. Judging by the sun, it’s nearly noon, making it a full day since he last had anything to eat or drink and Merlin doesn’t know how long he’ll last without food and water. His mouth is dry, not even the smallest bit of moisture left in it and his lips are cracked. 

The door swings open and Merlin instinctively wipes away any evidence of his tears. 

“I just don’t know where that boy has got to,” Gaius says, ushering Gwen in. 

“He and Arthur had a terrible row, but no one knows about what,” Gwen tells Gaius. “I can't imagine what could have happened for Arthur to practically banish Merlin from Camelot.”

They walk right up to Merlin, but though he can feel the air they stir, they can’t see or hear him at all. Tentatively, Merlin reaches out to grasp Gaius’ wrist as he reaches for a small bottle on the table. Momentarily, Merlin is elated when his fingers wrap around warm flesh, but when Gaius’ motion doesn’t even slow, Merlin let’s his hand drop before he can find out if he can pass through Gaius. 

“Has the king actually banished Merlin,” Gaius asks tentatively, pouring half the bottle’s content into a small jar. 

Merlin freezes, eyes locking on Gwen.

“Not as such,” she says, worry creasing her features. “But we’ve basically been forbidden to speak his name.”

“Has anyone said what Merlin did to anger King Arthur so?” 

From the way Gaius asked the question, Merlin is pretty sure that Gaius already has a strong suspicion. 

“No one can figure it out. Arthur can keep a grudge, but he rarely can stay angry at Merlin for all that long.”

Gaius huffs a breath and rummages through some bags of herbs, putting four leaves into the jar and picking up a mortar. 

Glumly, Merlin thinks that he might just have found the thing that will make Arthur hate him for all time. 

“Give me moment to mix these together with what’s already done to make a salve to spread it over his injury. Tell him that it should take away some of the swelling and pain and help him heal faster. If he needs anything else, I can go up to his chambers to see to him.”

Merlin doesn’t hear Gwen’s reply as his mind whirls with how Arthur could have hurt himself. Not stopping to think, he jogs to the door (every ache in his body from too little sleep on the very hard floor making itself known) needing to see Arthur for himself and runs into it. The eerie feeling of slightly pushing through the door making him shudder.

“Bollocks,” Merlin says between clenched teeth as he rubs the new bruised on his knuckles from where he failed to open the door. It’s not as if Merlin could do anything to help, but no matter what Arthur thinks, Merlin has always been there to try and protect him. To help him. 

“This should do it,” Gaius is saying when Merlin tunes back in. He hands over a small jar stoppered with a cork. “If you hear anything…”

“Thank you, Gaius,” Gwen says as they make their way to the door. “I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”

“Thank you, my dear.” Gaius gives her a sad smile as he opens the door.

With only a split second to make a choice that is really no choice at all, Merlin hurries after Gwen.

As they start up the stairs to Arthur’s chambers, Merlin tries to guess what Arthur has done to himself that requires treatment that he can’t get for himself, but is not injured badly enough to require the aid of the court physician. 

“Hello, Sarah,” Gwen says, smiling at one of the kitchen maids as she exits Arthur’s chambers.

“Hi, Gwen. You here to see the King?” Sarah asks.

Which, Merlin reflects, is a bit of a redundant question as Arthur’s are the only rooms in the area. 

“Yeah,” Gwen says with a worried attempt at a smile. “How is he this afternoon?”

“Didn’t have word to say for me, just stood glaring out at the courtyard the whole time. I got in, dropped off his midday meal, and left as quick as I could.”

Sarah looks as if she wants to say more, but there’s a muffled sound from inside Arthur’s chambers and she hurries away with a quick nod to Gwen. 

Squaring her shoulders, Gwen knocks briskly on the heavy wood door, waiting for Arthur's muffled ‘enter’ before going in. 

“I have some salve for your hand, Sire,” she says setting the jar down next to the tray holding Arthur’s untouched meal. 

It takes Merlin a second to find the injury he’s so happy to see that Arthur seems unharmed, but the knuckles of Arthur’s right hand are slightly swollen, the blood crusted and streaked. Arthur is prone to wiping the worst of the blood off then going about his day without Merlin around to fix him up properly, he must be in some pain to have asked Gwen to get him the salve. 

“Thank you,” Arthur says, not bothering to turn around. 

“It would be best if you put the salve on as soon as possible.”

“I’ll get to it in a minute,” he says in a dismissive tone. 

“I don’t mind putting it on for you while Merlin is away.”

It’s almost imperceptible, but Merlin sees how Arthur stiffens as soon as Gwen said ‘Merlin’. The slight hope that Merlin harboured of a lessening of Arthur’s anger turns to dust. If anything, the cold fury now radiating off of Arthur is worse than it was yesterday.

“I’m fine on my own,” Arthur bites out.

“Gaius said that–”

“It’s not a bad injury, I’ve been tending to them for years.”

“Merlin has been tending to them for years,” Gwen snaps back, clearly at the end of her patience. 

“He’s not here,” Arthur says, whirling around to face Gwen, rage turning his features hard. 

No matter how hard he looks, Merlin can’t see any of the compassion, fairness, goodness that he’s used to seeing in Arthur. In all the years that he’s served Arthur, been his friend, Merlin has never seen Arthur look so much like Uther. 

“Where is he?” Gwen asks softly.

“Not. Here.”

“Is he alive?” Her voice trembles, but she doesn’t back down and Merlin has never loved her so fiercely. 

“I’m sure he is. He can more than take care of himself.” Giving Gwen a dismissive nod, Arthur walks over to the table and starts poking at the food on the tray. 

“Merlin who trips over nothing and drops more things than he carries.” 

“I’m not that clumsy!” Merlin shouts, but of course neither of them hear him. 

“He’s far more crafty than any of us ever gave him credit for,” Arthur says darkly, taking a sip of water. 

“Merlin doesn’t have a crafty thought in his head!” Gwen objects, cheeks flushing as her anger rises. “He’s the most honest person I’ve ever met.”

The clatter of the cup hitting the wall by the door has Merlin (and Gwen) jumping. Merlin hadn’t even had time to register Arthur throwing the cup.

“Sire!” Gwen gasps with more censure filling the one word than all others Merlin has ever heard her utter.

“Leave me!” Arthur says, once again cold and detached.

“But--” 

“Go!” Arthur snaps. 

With a hard look Gwen obeys, the soft way she closes the behind her a sharp contrast to his outbursts. 

The resigned guilt on Arthur’s face makes Merlin want to both berate and comfort Arthur. That he can do neither has a strange tingle going through Merlin’s body that he can’t put a name to. Even when Arthur has pushes him aside in the past, Merlin has made the effort to makes certain that Arthur has always known that Merlin is there.

Shoulders slumping, Arthur clenches his fists, wincing slightly, before making his way over to where the goblet lays on the floor and picks it up placing it on the table before gingerly applying the salve that Gaius had sent up. The cuts are hours old and have mostly closed up by themselves, though the bruises are just starting to purple.

There’s no way for Merlin to help Arthur with either the salve or the turmoil that Merlin can see clearly etched into every line of Arthur’s body. Even if Merlin could be seen, he knows that he would be the last person Arthur would want trying to help. 

It aches, so much, knowing that he is the cause of what is hurting Arthur. Especially, when all Merlin has ever wanted is to protect Arthur, to help him. 

That Arthur is a stubborn arse clinging to something he doesn’t truly believe in is infuriating, but also understandable. A part of Merlin knows that the years of his lies have played a large part in Arthur’s anger. 

As Merlin watches, Arthur toys with his breakfast, not eating, just moving the cheese around with the thick slice of bread, his right hand slowly turning the plate in place. Occasionally, Arthur lets go of the plate to roll the apple around the rim like a knight patrolling the outer city. 

Reaching for the goblet, Arthur pours water from the jug, his thumb ring tapping out a steady beat on the jug as he drinks down the goblet’s contents without pause. Merlin licks his lips, thirst battling with hunger for prominence. Arthur pours a second cup, takes a sip, then puts the goblet back down next to the plate he’s still turning. 

With a scrape of wood on stone, Arthur shoves his chair back, standing. His hip knocks the table as he does and Merlin automatically moves to stop the plate from falling even as he recognises the futility of it.

Except, his hand closes around the cool metal and he stares flabbergasted at the plate. 

“Arthur!” Merlin calls, relief and joy and worry all mixing together.

But Arthur doesn’t slow as he makes his way to the door, closing it softly behind him.

Pulse racing, Merlin runs to the door, only to have his hand meet resistance, then pass through the handle. 

“Fuck!” Merlin shouts, pain prickling along his right hand as his left raises to throw the plate across the room. He manages to stop himself at the last second, not understanding why he can still touch the plate.

Tentatively, he reaches for the bread on it; when his finger bump into the crust, he snatches it up. Going back to the table, he sets the plate down and tries for the cheese, but his fingers pass through humid space. 

Not wanting to waste the food he can touch, Merlin gobbles the bread down quickly, crumbs sticking sharply in his throat. Eyeing the rest of the table, Merlin grabs the goblet, and rejoices as his fingers close are able to grasp cool metal. Greedily, he brings the goblet up to his lips and drinks the water down, holding it up until every last drop is gone. 

Looking hopefully at the apple, Merlin sends a brief plea to the gods and reaches for it. There’s a second when he feels his fingers start to sink in, but not all the way, as if he’s touching a rotten apple. 

Too famished to care if it is rotten, Merlin lifts the apple and eats the whole thing as quickly as he can, even the core. After trying everything else and meeting only with failure, Merlin turns from the table because looking at it just makes him hungry again.

Exhaustion and worry swamp Merlin and with nothing better to do, he decides that sleeping when he’s able (always his fallback plan) is the best course of action. Or, inaction, as it were. 

Arthur’s bed calls to him, though happily not literally, and Merlin goes over to it. He’s never even entertained the notion of considering to sleep in it before (many other actions, sure, but not actually sleeping while Arthur is away), but even if Arthur were to return unheard, it’s not as if he would see Merlin in his bed.

Tentatively pushing down, Merlin is relieved to discover that whatever magic keeps him from passing through floors and walls also applies to Arthur’s bed. After a couple of failed attempts to pull back the cover, Merlin makes himself comfortable on the top of the bedding and is asleep in minutes.


	3. Chapter 3

Consciousness comes slowly to Arthur; he is warm and feels safe and happy. He snuggles under the bedding, only to discover that he’s trapped on his left side. 

Too many times of waking up bound, has Arthur flailing looking for his captors, adrenaline surging through his body. However, he’s alone in his bed, the blankets pulled down in an odd way, but there’s no one else in the room as far as he can see. 

Then again, if it were Merlin, he would have no way of knowing, would he. 

Anger tamps down the flutters of worry Arthur has about where Merlin might be, over the building fear that no one has seen him two days. 

The memory of Merlin fading before his eyes tangles up with all of it. 

Hurt rolls in too at all the lies. All the close brushes with death, all the miraculous escapes parade in front of Arthur’s mindseye and he wonders how much was chance and how much was Merlin’s magic at work. 

The fact that Merlin never trusted Arthur enough to confide, to even hint that there might be a secret this big in need of hiding cuts the most. That not one day is free of lies.

For all that they’d protected each other over the years, fought for each other, with each other, and teased, and joked, and lived, Arthur had never knowingly lied to Merlin. And Arthur can now only speculate at how much of that protecting was thanks to Merlin casting spells.

That Merlin had been lying to Arthur every hour of every day in countless ways is inconceivable. That Merlin was so good at creating such a web of deceit leaves Arthur questioning Merlin’s every motivation. His very friendship. Because, if Merlin is as powerful as Arthur suspects, there has to be a reason that he’s been by the side of the prince, the king, of Camelot for so many years.

There is also the question of what else Merlin could be hiding.

Fury, and more than a little hunger, churn in Arthur’s belly. Though his plate from dinner was empty when one of the kitchen staff came to clear it away, Arthur barely remembers touching his food; something else that he can lay at Merlin’s door.

As is the fact that his breakfast is not waiting for him for the second day in a row. 

“Fucking Merlin,” Arthur growls, throwing the comforter back and getting out of bed. Huffing and grumbling, Arthur strips out of sleeping clothes and gets dressed for the day. 

There’s a council meeting, which Arthur supposes is for the best as he can dress by himself in court clothes far more easily than chainmail. Another aggravating result of Merlin’s lies. 

A sharp knock sounds at his door and seconds later the smell of food wafts in causing the hunger in Arthur’s belly to reassert itself. 

“Come in,” he calls out as he buckles his belt. 

Gwen bustles in carrying a tray loaded down with bread that looked as if it had just come out of the oven, a shiny red apple, a ripe plumb, a good sized bit of cheese, a pile of bacon, and three fat sausages; it was more food than Arthur usually saw at breakfast from Merlin. 

And with that thought, his grin fades and a simmering rage tenses his muscles. Arthur wonders what other lies other people are concealing. 

Perhaps Gwen’s sweet smiles and no nonsense attitude hide the leader of the bandits that plague the border towns. If Morgana’s fiery temper is a purposeful misdirection for something far darker. If steadfast Leon is preparing a revolt against him.

“Your breakfast, Sire,” Gwen says sharply, setting the platter down with enough force that the apple rolls to the table. She firmly sets the pitcher down next to the platter and clunks the goblet that was tucked in the crook of her elbow next to the pitcher. 

“Aren’t there kitchen servants to bring me my meals?” Arthur asks. It’s a rare morning when Gwen is free from her duties to Morgana. Why she is today, he doesn’t know, but her attitude makes him feel both anger and guilt and he feels enough of both due to Merlin that he doesn’t need others to add to his turmoil.

“They’re worried about your uncertain mood, so I told them that I’d bring up your breakfast after I saw to Morgana’s.”

“I don’t have uncertain moods!” And even if he did, it wasn’t the place of his servants to take umbrage with him. 

“Your moods since coming back empty handed from your hunting trip have been unpredictably foul. To the point where the servants are afraid to approach you.” 

Shame floods Arthur; he doesn’t want to be the type of King his subjects fear.

Something of that must show on his face, because Gwen softens slightly. 

“What happened to Merlin?” she asks softly.

“Nothing that concerns you.” Cold wraps around him, stiffening his posture and stealing his heart. 

“What could he possibly have done to deserve banishment?”

“I haven’t banished him.” Arthur’s breath catches at the very thought of never seeing Merlin again.

“You won’t tell us what he’s done wrong.” Gwen gives him a tentative smile. “I know he can be a bit scattered, but he’s my friend.”

“He’s not as good a friend as you think,” Arthur says darkly, and though he wants to tell Gwen of all of Merlin’s lies, he doesn’t feel he can. The biggest of the lies isn’t his to reveal. 

“He’s one of the most honest people I’ve ever met,” Gwen protests. 

“I’m done talking about him.” Arthur uses all the command he possess in his tone. 

All expression slips from Gwen’s face and she gives him a perfunctory nod and leaves his chamber.

Fucking perfect, Arthur thinks, wondering how many other people Merlin’s lies will hurt. And why Arthur feels compelled to still protect Merlin despite his massive betrayal. 

Sitting down, Arthur starts to pick at his breakfast. 

# # #

Arthur puts down the sausage before he even takes a bite of it and Merlin’s stomach growls in longing. The night before, he’d managed to eat a bit of Arthur’s dinner without him noticing. All the interruptions of various knights, nobles, and multiple people bringing buckets of water to fill Arthur’s bath had helped a great deal.

It didn’t look as if Merlin was going to be that lucky a second time. 

The throbbing in his left hip echoed that of his hunger. Merlin had been woken by the covers jerking under him an instant before he’d been airborne, then landed with a jarring thud on the floor. On one hand, he was happy to learn that he wouldn’t be able to push through the hard stone the way he did the wall, on the other he now has a whopping big bruise on his left hip. 

Merlin has no idea what caused Arthur to flail about in bed, but he’s been keeping a close eye on him all morning. (Currently, Merlin might have been keeping a closer eye on Arthur’s breakfast, but it isn’t as if Arthur is far away from his food.)

Next to be picked up and rejected for no reason at all, as far as Merlin can tell, is a crispy piece of bacon. Merlin’s mouth would water if he had enough moisture to spare in his body. He’d managed two goblets of wine last night, but it was hardly enough. He had contemplated trying to drink the water in the bath, but it was emptied before he managed an attempt. 

“Where the hell is Merlin?” Gwaine demands, storming into the room causing Merlin to start, pain shooting from his hip. He’d been so focused on his own thirst, that he hadn’t heard Gwaine’s footsteps.

“Not here,” Arthur says, fist closing around his goblet filled with delicious water. 

“He’s not anywhere!” Gwaine says, marching up to where Arthur is seated and glowers down at him. 

“He’s somewhere,” Arthur shoots back, taking a sip of water. 

“No one has seen Merlin since he left with you.” Gwaine is all but vibrating with anger. “That’s two days now.”

Something that might be worry flashes across Arthur’s face, but it’s gone too quickly for Merlin to be certain. 

“He can take care of himself.”

“The last person Merlin is good at taking care of is himself.” Gwaine gives Arthur a contemptuous look. “He’s far better at taking care of others.”

The chair clatters to the floor as Arthur pushes violently back from table. As Merlin watches, some of the longed for water sloshes over the rim of his goblet. 

“Believe me when I say that he is more than capable of looking after himself,” Arthur says, glaring at Gwaine. “And that is the end of this discussion.”

“No, it is not,” Gwaine snarls, body tense, fist clenched. “Where the buggering hell is he, Arthur?”

The worry is coming off of Gwaine in waves. For the countless time, Merlin wished he were visible (and solid) so that he could set his friends’ minds at ease. 

“Not here,” Arthur repeats, his own fist clenching.

Both men look to be readying to throw the first punch. There is no way for Merlin to stop the fight, though he is trying. He can feel his magic wrapping around both of his friends, but neither seem to notice beyond the occasional twitch. Barely an inch separates them in height, but Arthur seems so much bigger to Merlin. 

Harsh breathing fills the room and Merlin knows that once they start fighting that there’ll be no way to stop them until one is unconcious. And, no matter the outcome, Gwaine will be the loser.

“Sire,” Leon calls from the open doorway, face impassive. “The council meeting will be starting shortly.”

Merlin watches Arthur rein himself in, the mantle of King settling on his shoulders, suppressing his anger. 

“I’m on my way,” Arthur says. With one last hard look at Gwaine, he leaves.

Leon and Gwaine exchange a long look, before Gwaine’s slumps and they exit Arthur’s chambers, closing the door behind them.

Thirst has Merlin’s body grabbing up the goblet without conscious thought and slowly drinking half of it down. Mind in turmoil, Merlin methodically tests then eats as much of Arthur’s breakfast as he can between sips of the last of the water. 

Gwaine and Arthur will come to blows, it’s only a matter of time. Whether either will be able to heal after is far less certain. Unsubstantial as he is, there’s nothing that Merlin can do to intervene.

This is all his fault. If only he’d managed to find the courage to tell Arthur the truth. Maybe not while Uther had been alive, but after. After the grieving, after the crown had settled. One of the times they’d been alone when it felt as if there was no one else in the world but them.

Merlin could have told Arthur about his magic gradually, let little bits bleed into their everyday life until it wouldn’t have been such a shock. Tell Arthur of the good and the bad that had happened. What Merlin’s hopes for the future were. For Arthur. 

A twisting in Merlin's stomach cuts off his next thought. 

Maybe he'll starve to death in the next weeks and never be able to see the great king he knows that Arthur will be. The changes he'll bring about in Camelot. Maybe even in all of Albion.

Forcing himself to pay attention, Merlin eats the last of Arthur’s bacon.


	4. Chapter 4

The world isn’t quite steady around Arthur, but that’s fine, Leon is next to him helping navigate the stairs. Stairs that tilt and move. He really must talk to someone about that.

“The stairs are fine, Sire,” Leon says and Arthur realises that he must have said something about the stairs out loud. 

It could be magic and then what would he do. There was no court sorcerer around to solve. Nobody hiding in plain sight pretending to be a bloody awful manservant to secretly fix the problem. No best friend to take the piss and point out that Arthur is the problem.

“Fucking Merlin,” Arthur slurs as they stumble through the door of his chambers.

“What was that, Sire?” Leon asks, as Arthur moves towards the bed.

“That useless manservant of mine. Off doing gods know what. Consorting with who knows what.”

“Do you want me to call someone to help you get ready for bed?” Leon asks blandly. The look Leon is giving him is impassive, however even in his inebriated state Arthur knows that means Leon has plenty to say on the subject, but won’t.

“No! I can do it myself,” Arthur says, pulling away from Leon. The world tilts a bit, then rights itself. Straightening, Arthur turns to Leon, managing not to sway, “Have a good night.”

“Goodnight, Sire,” Leon gives Arthur a slight nod and leaves. 

Slowly making his way over to the bed, only tripping once (he really needs to have the floor seen to), Arthur collapses on it, feet still on the floor and looks up at the red velvet canopy. He hasn’t had enough wine to make the ceiling spin, but it’s a near thing. 

All throughout the meal, Morgana had refused to speak to him directly, the knights were subdued, and while the servants perform their jobs adequately, there was a coldness about the whole affair. As if they all knew that he was the reason for Merlin’s absence. Which wasn’t fair at all. 

“He lied to me,” Arthur growls, defending himself to absent, judging, people. People whom he should never have have to defend himself to, and even if he did, it isn’t as if they were there to offer an explanation to anyway. Closing his eyes, Arthur lets the hurt wash over him for the first time. “For years, he lied to me.”

“Sorry.”

Arthur jerks up to a sitting position, gripping the bedpost to stop himself from falling to the floor. Looking around frantically, he doesn’t see anyone. He could have sworn that it was Merlin’s voice that he had heard. 

“Merlin?” Arthur asks, straining his eyes to see into every dark shadow, but there was nothing there, and no other sound came other than his own breathing and the occasional pop of the fire. Either he is going mad, a real possibility, or Merlin is here, hiding from him. 

Weaving ever so slightly, Arthur makes his way to the changing screen, half convinced that Merlin is hiding behind it, but no one is there. 

When he stumbles by the bed, Arthur drops to his knees and looks under it, even going so far as to close his left eye to focus better, but again, nothing.

“Show yourself,” Arthur says as he pushes himself to his feet glaring about the room. And even though he can see under the table, he makes his way, kicking at the bench in the hopes of hitting something solid. He does little else than trip over his own feet and end up on his arse.

It’s probably a good thing that no one is in his chambers with him, as he must appear to have gone slightly mad. (And, really, if he’s hearing Merlin’s voice when Merlin is obviously not there, he probably has gone slightly mad.)

“Stop hiding!” Arthur demands, wanting more than the obvious. For Merlin to stop the way he has been hiding since the day they met. Arthur won't ever forgive Merlin for the betrayal.

“Liar,” Arthur mumbles, but he has no idea if he means Merlin or himself.

It takes far more effort than Arthur will ever admit to to strip down, so he decides sleeping naked is the best plan. It’s not as if Merlin will be bursting into his chambers unexpectedly. 

Heart heavy in his chest, Arthur settles down to try and sleep; trying in vain to shut off his racing mind. Defenses lowered by wine and exhaustion, his thoughts return to Merlin.

He wonders where Merlin could possibly be, if he’s safe. Merlin always gets cold so much more easily than anyone else Arthur knows and Merlin hadn’t been wearing the proper clothing for an extended period of being out of doors. 

Then again, Arthur muses, he can probably keep himself warm keep himself warm quite well in the absence of prying eyes. He's probably quite happy to be left alone.

But Merlin loves people, to chatter on, and none of those he loves the best have seen him in days. Anything could have happened to Merlin because if the last years have proved nothing else, Merlin is remarkably good at getting himself into scrapes. 

Rolling over onto his stomach, Arthur stares out into the murky darkness searching for someone he knows isn’t there. Firelight flickers, causing the shadows to dance, but no matter how hard he looks, Merlin never fades back in. 

If there was a way to get in contact with Merlin, Arthur would. If only to ensure that himself that Merlin is alive. Arthur is still filled with too much anger to want to see him. Though the anger is being steadily eaten away by worry with every hour that no one has any word from Merlin. 

Sadness wraps around him like a blanket; covering him in a way that it never has before. 

It’s a long time before Arthur drifts off into a fitful sleep.

# # #

The world shuddering startles Merlin awake and he braces in preparation for hitting the stone floor for the second morning in a row. However, nothing happens except for the slight constant shaking of the mattress as it sways on its ropes. Sleep fogging his brain, Merlin tries to figure out what is causing the bed to move. 

Next to him, Arthur’s breath hitches and Merlin turns over wondering how he could possibly rouse Arthur from the nightmares he’s prone to when sleeping safe in the castle. 

Only, Arthur is awake and the rhythmic movement is his right hand and arm causing the bed’s movement.

Heat suffuses Merlin as the realisation washes over him that Arthur is having a wank. Merlin blames his exhaustion for the reason that it took him so long to figure out what Arthur is doing. In all the years he’s been at Arthur’s side, Merlin has never caught Arthur doing this. There’s no hiding the evidence on the sheets that Merlin has sent to be laundered, but this is…

Arthur groans, hips arching off the bed a bit and Merlin’s cock, which was already half hard, fills the rest of the way. (It seems to have known what Arthur was about long before Merlin’s brain did.)

There is something very wrong with him watching Arthur like this; a gross invasion of privacy and Merlin should be standing up and going to--

Another gasping moan draws Merlin’s gaze up to Arthur’s face. Even in the shadows of the banked fire, Merlin can see it’s lightly sheened with sweat. Arthur’s eyes are tightly shut, his jaw clenched.

The next groan is followed by Arthur licking his lips, then gnawing on the bottom one as the bed starts to rock faster. 

Now, Merlin thinks as his mind fogs with lust and his cock throbs in tandem with Arthur’s movements, he really needs to go. Though it’s not as if he can leave the room, he can at least leave the bed. Maybe go stand behind the changing screen.

Everything in Merin wants to reach out and touch Arthur, to kiss his lips, to feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest, to slide his hand along Arthur’s. The knowledge that Arthur doesn't want him that way at all has Merlin sitting up, preparing to go.

“Merlin,” Arthur moans, back arching off the bed, his movements under the blanket now frantic. 

Any motivation that Merlin had to leave the bed disintegrates as easily as a spiderweb under a sword. 

Never before has it occurred to Merlin that Arthur wants him, pictures him while he masturbates. Merlin thinks of the countless nights they slept side by side, sometimes pressed together sharing body heat, of all the times Merlin wanked thinking of the feel of Arthur's body along his, imaging a different outcome than sleep. Now, Merlin wonders if Arthur has done the same. 

“Gods, Merlin, please,” Arthur begs, voices rough, breath coming in pants.

Merlin’s hand roughly shoves his trousers down far enough to wrap his fingers around his own leaking cock and tugs none too gently. Arthur might have had a headstart, but Merlin doesn’t think that he’s all the far behind. 

“Mer–” 

And Arthur is coming, head shoved back into the pillow, body bowed, a garble of noises coming from his parted lips. 

Despite being roused from a deep sleep, Merlin is on the knife edge of climax and as the aftershocks of Arthur’s release shake the bed, Merlin instinctively stifles his own sounds of pleasure as his orgasm takes him. Pleasures filling him up, pushing his magic out. Tendrils of it wrap around Merlin like ghostly touches, and his cock spills again.

The room smells like sex and feels warm in a way that has nothing to do with the banked fire as Merlin lays boneless, heart still pounding, staring at Arthur who has drifted back to sleep. Sorrow and guilt bubble through the lassitude of Merlin’s post-orgasmic haze.

This will be yet another secret he has from Arthur. Something else he knows that Arthur doesn’t, something that he should keep hidden as one day soon Arthur must marry, must produce an heir.

That secrets are what landed Merlin right where he is with Arthur hating him (though maybe less than Merlin thought) and Merlin somehow invisible, weakens Merlin’s resolve. 

After all, it isn’t as if Uther was a hereditary king. There’s nothing to say that Arthur can’t take in a foundling or choose someone from his court to inherit his crown. Sucking in a breath at the surprising ideas, Merlin wonders what Arthur would make of them. If he would ever consider making someone his consort rather than a queen.

And, really, all these thoughts are for nothing if Merlin can’t figure out how to become solid and visible again. Arthur will never know how desperately sorry Merlin is, how much he wants to stay at Arthur’s side in whatever capacity he can. 

Next to him, Arthur makes a soft snuffling noise, face tense, and longing fills Merlin to be able to reach out and sooth Arthur. Not that he ever has in the past, but it doesn’t stop the wanting. His magic longs to fix whatever it is that is troubling Arthur and Merlin lets it, confident that it can no more touch Arthur than he could. 

Arthur sighs and turns to face Merlin, the tension is still on his face, but he seems to be settling in for the rest of night. 

Breathing in the scents of them, of night, of what the future could be, Merlin closes his eyes and wills himself to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Arthur pokes at the fruit and cheese on the plate before him with disinterest, worry twisting his stomach into knots. No one has seen Merlin for four days. Sometime while Arthur had slept worry had fully overtaken the fury that he holds for Merlin. Now, all he wants is to know that Merlin is safe. 

Even though Arthur is still fundamentally very angry and hurt about Merlin’s lies, and that he is certain that there would be a lot of shouting if Merlin were to fade back into existence in front of him, Arthur desperately wants to know where Merlin is, how he is. This is the longest that he and Merlin have been apart since Merlin started working at the castle. 

Since he’d returned without Merlin, Arthur has noticed that when he walks into rooms, people stop talking, when he looks at his knights he sees poorly concealed censure and anger. He’s steered well clear of Morgana and Gaius since yesterday, not wanting to be faced with their more extreme reactions.

Poking at one of the squoogy cheeses with a slice of apple, Arthur wonders if Merlin is getting enough to eat. If he’s warm. About a myriad of things that could have happened to him, both magical and not.

Four days is an eternity when the person who is missing is someone who is vital.

Picking up his wine goblet, Arthur debates the wisdom of overindulging for a second night in a row. The hangover this morning hadn’t been too bad. However, the odd feeling of having Merlin in bed with him while he’d been wanking is more than a little disconcerting. (If incredibly arousing.)

“Why are you hiding up here instead of searching for Merlin?” Morgana asks as she flings open the door to his chambers.

“Good evening to you too, Morgana,” Arthur greets, using his most imperious tone. Not that it had ever stopped one of her tirades before, but he lives in hope that it might deter her for a while longer.

“Don’t you ‘good evening’ me, Arthur. Not when you’re sitting comfortably up here while Merlin is the Gods know where. He’s hurt or captured or worse.”

“Where would you have me look for him?” Arthur asks, genuinely curious as he can’t imagine where to start. Even if he went back to the clearing where he last saw Merlin, he’s wondering if he’d be able to see Merlin even if Merlin were standing directly in front of him. If Merlin faded out, maybe he’s staying invisible. (It’s a farfetched hope, but it’s better than the gut-twisting terror that is growing with each day that passes that he might never see Merlin again.)

“How about where you left him!” Morgana says, words spaced out as if talking to an idiot.

“I didn’t leave him,” Arthur says, anger rising up. That everyone assumes that he’s done something to Merlin is both insulting and hurtful.

“Well, he’s sure as hell not here, nor was he with you when you returned from your fruitless hunt.” She glares at him, her fury a near tangible thing. “So how about you put on your shiny metal suit and go out and find him?”

“If he wanted to be found, I’m sure he would. He is more than capable of taking care of himself.”

“So you keep saying, but I don’t think you’re talking about the same Merlin I am. That Merlin trips over empty space on a clear, dry day. Never mind what happens in the middle of dangerous situations.”

“Believe me when I say he can protect not only himself, but anyone else when he wants to.”

“Arthur, have you had a blow to the head?” Morgana asks with false worry. “We’ve gone over this before; Merlin is no more capable of protecting himself then he is of flying.”

“For all you know, he can fly fine!” Arthur snarls at the thought of all he doesn’t know about what Merlin can do. Rage takes over all sense and it’s both a relief and worry as it temporarily buries the fears he has about Merlin.

“Oh, come on, Arthur. Whatever petty fight you and Merlin had is not worth the punishment you’re inflicting upon him. I can’t believe that there is anything in this world or any other that Merlin could have done that would make you act this way.”

“He’s a bloody sorcerer!” Arthur yells, years of lies cascading down on him. “He’s lucky to still be attached to his head!” It’s a moment before his brain catches up to what he’s said, and then Arthur wishes that he had magic himself so that he might call the words back.

From the horrified way that Morgana is staring at him, Arthur doesn’t know if she’ll ever speak to him again. While most days he jokes about preferring a world without Morgana harping on at him, the reality of not having Merlin by his side has made him truly appreciate all those people he does.

“Morgana, I–” Arthur starts, and it’s as if her name as given her the power of amazing speed, for she rushes from the room faster than he’s ever seen her move.

“Damn it,” Arthur mutters, wondering how many more people he can alienate in one week. Going after Morgana now would be pointless when her temper is so high. Tomorrow morning he’ll seek her out and try to explain something to her that he doesn’t really understand himself.

The night stretches out in front of him lonely and long. Once again, Arthur starts idly prodding the food on the plate, but even the orange, so hard to come by, holds no interest for him. Not when the rare treat is one of Merlin’s favourite foods.

There’s a knock on his door and Arthur sighs and straightens.

“What is it?” Arthur asks. Having no desire to be berated again this evening nor to alienate anyone else, he intends to find out who it is and what they want before he invites anyone into his chambers.

“We have the buckets of hot water for your bath, Sire,” George says, his muffled voice coming from behind the closed door.

“Enter,” Arthur commands.

Four men carrying steaming buckets make their way across his room to the bath. None of them even glance in his direction, their faces set in the masks of a perfect servant.

Unable to face such blank disregard, Arthur stands and goes to the window watching the shadows stretch long across the courtyard.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to look for Merlin, he truly does, it’s that he has no idea how to go about setting up a search without explaining, at least in part, how Merlin faded before his eyes. How Merlin killed the bandits that attacked them. How Merlin has magic.

No one has been put to death for the use of magic since he became king, but the laws are still in effect. After so many years of fear and hatred, changing the minds of the people of Camelot won’t happen because of one man. And until the laws are changed, explaining what happened puts Merlin in mortal danger.

If he isn’t already.

Gone are the days when Arthur could sneak out of the castle and disappear for hours without causing alarm. While Gwaine would probably join in a search without spilling Merlin's dangerous secret, there is always the chance that he would let something slip while in the tavern one night. Merlin would be in danger without any warning.

Arthur wonders how long is too long to wait before setting up a search and how his men could search for someone who was invisible, perhaps not even corporeal.

“Sire?” Gaius calls from the doorway. 

Startled, Arthur realises that his bath is nearly full and wonders how long he’s stood staring into darkness.

“What can I do for you Gaius?” Arthur asks, though he has a sneaking suspicion he already knows the answer and wishes he’d not called for a bath this night.

“How is your hand faring?”

“It’s doing quite well.” Clenching his fist a couple of times, Arthur can barely feel the tug of the scabs. “You didn’t need to come all the way up here to ask after it.”

Gaius eyes the men emptying the buckets and waits until they leave, the last one grabbing Arthur’s nearly empty tray. The sight causes Arthur to start as he doesn’t remember eating any of it, but he supposes as lost as he had been in his own head, he could have wandered around his chambers without noticing. On more than one campaign, he’s looked down to find his plate empty.

“I was wondering if I could speak with you about Merlin,” Gaius asks once the door is closed.

“He’s not here,” Arthur says flatly, wondering how many times he’s going to have the exact same conversation with various people.

“Yes, Sire, and that’s the point. No one has seen the boy in four days.”

“I know how long it’s been. How could I not with everyone telling me anytime I turn around.”

“The thing is,” Gaius perseveres, “while Merlin can be absent-minded, he has never disappeared for this long and not been in some sort of trouble.”

“He gets in trouble so often,” drawls Arthur, “I’m sure he can figure out how to get himself out of it.” After all, how many times has Merlin been able to save himself over the years? Dozens? Hundreds? It’s probably far easier when no one is on hand to see him, Arthur thinks bitterly.

“I don’t know what happened in the woods between you, but I know that Merlin would never leave you for this long,” Gaius says, tone as sharp as Arthur has ever heard it.

“I…” Arthur doesn’t know how to answer. That Gaius is worried is obvious, that everyone is worried is obvious. That no one thinks he’s worried, is annoying. Truly annoying. Though he hasn’t really shown his worry to anyone. Still, Arthur feels that they should know him better than this. Should know that he’s terrified for Merlin. “I don’t know where he could possibly be.”

“Then perhaps you should organise a search party to start looking for him.” Gaius steps closer. “I know you care for him, Arthur,” Gaius says, voice soft.

It’s the genuine concern and sorrow that’s written all over Gaius’ face that breaks Arthur’s façade and he can feel his mask of disinterest crumble. For four days he’s tried to carry on as if he didn’t care that Merlin was missing, and, to be fair, for two of those days his anger had far overshadowed his worry, but he’s so weary of not letting his feelings show.

Studying Gaius, Arthur considers; Merlin has lived with Gaius since he came to Camelot, Gaius knew Merlin’s mother in some way (the details of which Merlin has always been vague about), Gaius used to practice magic in the days before it was banned.

Gaius is genuinely worried about Merlin and would do anything to protect him.

“I think that his disappearance is of his own choosing,” Arthur says slowly.

“How could you think such a thing?” Gaius demands, anger replacing the concern from moments ago. “Merlin can be a bit careless, but he would never purposely scare us all like this.”

“We were ambushed by some bandits and after we dispatched them,” Arthur studies Gaius’ face closely, but his expression doesn’t change, “Merlin started to fade before my eyes.”

“Sorcery!” Gaius exclaims, though he doesn’t look nearly as horrified as a man who believes magic is evil would. “Why didn’t you send out knights as soon as you returned to find the culprit?”

“And what would they have looked for?” Arthur can’t tell from Gaius’ reactions if he knows about Merlin’s magic or not. On the off chance that Merlin has somehow kept it secret from Gaius as well, Arthur doesn’t want to out him.

“There could have been signs! Tracks, a circle where the spell was cast, Merlin scratching in the ground with a stick.”

“And what would have prevented him from doing that here?” Surely if Merlin was here, but invisible he would have revealed himself to someone by now. However, going back to search for signs in the forest probably isn’t the worst idea ever.

Shoulders slumping in defeat, Gaius looks away. “How did he disappear? Did he fade away or pop out of existence?”

“He faded away.” Slowly, yet in the blink of an eye.

“Could you still hear him?” Gaius asks.

Arthur has to think about that because he’s not sure. There had been a roaring that filled his ears and a red haze in front of his eyes.

“Not once I couldn’t see him,” Arthur decides. 

“Could you still touch him?”

“I didn’t try. And, before you ask, if he tried to touch me, I didn’t feel it.” Now, he only felt Merlin touching him while he was on the brink of sleep or having a wank. Not that he thinks that either of those facts were something that Gaius needed to know.

“I’ll try and research what happened to him, but there isn’t really a lot to go on.”

“Do what you can,” Arthur says, without much enthusiasm. He’s fairly certain that whatever happened to Merlin wasn’t because of a spell cast by someone else. 

“Yes, Sire,” Gaius bows his head and shuffles towards the door.

“Have a good night,” Arthur calls, turning towards his bath.

“Will you let some of the knights start a search tomorrow?” Gaius asks when he’s at the door.

“I’ll ask Leon to organise something.”

“Thank you, Arthur.” With that, Gaius closes the door.

Disrobing mechanically, Arthur sinks into the hot water and tries not to think that more often than not, Merlin had been with him when he’d bathed. A piece of towelling lies draped over the side of the tub, a cake of soap within easy reach on a stool beside him. Stretching, Arthur grabs the soap and promptly drops it into the water when he tries to grab the towelling. He can feel the soap between his legs, but every time he shifts to try and grab it, it slides away.

“Dammit,” he mutters in frustration. Eventually, he manages to trap the soap between his thigh and the wall of the tub. Bathing is a far easier task when someone else does it for him. Not that Merlin has ever dropped the soap and had to chase it the way Arthur has just done. Though, that would have been memorable experience due to his humiliating erection and the experience of having Merlin’s fingers searching the water so close to his cock. 

Arthur wonders how many times he’s bathed with Merlin in the room with him, how many erections he’s hidden while Merlin has washed his back, how many times he told Merlin that he wasn’t scrubbing properly just to have the feel of Merlin’s touch etched into his skin right before he went to sleep. The number of nights he wanked to the thought of Merlin far outnumbers baths, but he always comes just a little bit harder when he can still feel Merlin’s fingers on his body.

Water splashes in his eyes as he manages to drop the soap again.

This time, he gives it up for lost. His cock is rock hard and his heart aches with missing Merlin. As he figures there is just about zero chance of anyone (Merlin) catching him, Arthur decides to takes the matter in hand, as it were.

Without teasing himself elsewhere, Arthur fists his cock; he longs for the oblivion of orgasm, of being lost in pleasure, of forgetting that Merlin isn’t here, if only for a couple of moments.

Keeping his fingers loose, Arthur strokes himself slowly, letting the pleasure build. He tries not to imagine Merlin kneeling next to the tub, shirt off, arm in the water. He tries not to imagine that it’s Merlin’s hand on him, steadily moving up and down his hard shaft. Tries not to imagine that it’s Merlin swirling his thumb over the head of his cock.

He fails miserably.

There’s no point in even trying.

Closing his eyes to better focus on his fantasy, Arthur tightens his fingers, moving his hand faster, his breath coming in pants. There’s no way he’s going to be able to draw this out, not when he can almost hear Merlin’s moans, feel his body pressing up against his shoulders, arms coming around his torso.

“Merlin,” Arthur moans, not bothering to stifle his cry.

Without conscious thought, Arthur moves his hand faster, imagining that his fingers and Merlin's are now laced together on his cock. The feeling is so real that he opens his eyes to make certain he is in fact alone.

No one else is there and the reality of that nearly has Arthur stopping. However, his fingers jerk involuntarily up his cock, his thumb automatically swiping over the now exposed head.

“Merlin,” Arthur gasps, hips rising up to meet the movement of his fist.

In his mind’s eye, Merlin is moaning Arthur’s name, and he can feel the tub shake as Merlin strokes himself behind Arthur.

It’s all so fucking real, more than any fantasy Arthur has ever hand. Merlin’s next moan is directly in Arthur's ear and that’s all he needs to send him over the edge.

Back arching, cursing and calling Merlin's name, Arthur comes hard and long, water sloshing over the side of the tub. Pleasure courses through his body in fast waves, all tinged with the knowledge that none of it was real. Could never be real. Merlin has never shown any indication that he wants anything like this with Arthur. With anyone.

With his breathing slowly coming back to normal, worry and sadness seep back into Arthur's consciousness. Tomorrow, he'll set up search parties, he’ll tell them to look for the unusual, make certain that the knights that go out are ones that Merlin would feel comfortable showing himself to. Are ones who would not take him into custody no matter what they saw.

The lassitude that almost always comes after such a release has Arthur nodding off in his bath. He imagines Merlin calling his name softly, urging him out and to go to bed.

Humming in acknowledgement, Arthur stumbles out of the tub and grabs the nearby towelling, and only dries himself in the most perfunctory fashion before stumbling to his bed.

As he snuggles down into the pillows, eyes closed, his mind has Merlin stroking his face and whispering something so softly that Arthur can't quite make out the words.

Memories of Merlin's smile and gentle touch follow Arthur to sleep.

# # #

When Arthur sighs and drifts off to sleep, Merlin runs over to the table. Everything is a bit squidgy, but Merlin gobbles it down ignoring the unpleasant tactile sensation. Stomach mostly filled, he heads over to the tub.

It's been days since he's washed and between the fight, hard ride back to the castle, and other activities, he's more than a little ripe.

However, Merlin does worry that if he strips off his clothes that he might not be able to put them back on. While Arthur's room is fairly warm, it would be just his luck to become corporeal again when he's naked and surrounded by people.

Shifting on his feet makes the uncomfortable sticky sensation in his trousers known, and the decision is made for him. 

Stripping down, Merlin gets in the bath and searches for the forgotten cake of soap. Keeping one eye on Arthur, Merlin washes quickly. He hasn't figured out all the whys and hows yet, but it seems that he can touch things that Arthur has recently touched. Merlin thinks that he can touch his own stuff, but hasn't been willing to test that theory too closely until now as he would either have to leave Arthur’s chambers and try and get to his own, or strip off his clothing with the risk of not being able to put it back on. 

However, he can’t stand the way he smells and feels, and even naked surround by people seems a better option at this point.

From the bed, Arthur mumbles in his sleep and Merlin wonders about nightmares. Memories of the previous night when he also had been worried about bad dreams flood into him. If he hadn't just come so very hard, Merlin is certain he would have been seconds away from touching himself. As it is, his cock twitches.

Lust and regret and not a little shame, twist inside Merlin. One time could be considered an accident, but it’s now twice that Merlin has got off along with Arthur. Tonight, he was right there, wrapping around Arthur, stroking along with him as Arthur groaned out Merlin's name as he touched himself.

Merlin had barely needed to touch his own painfully hard cock, before he had been calling Arthur's name and spending himself against the side of the tub.

A shiver shakes Merlin that is part arousal and part cold. Shoving the thoughts of Arthur's climaxes aside, Merlin scrubs his clothing, then wrings them out as best he can, before standing. Scanning the room, Merlin spots the towelling that Arthur had carelessly dropped on the floor midway between the tub and his bed.

Sprinting over to it, Merlin bends down to pick it up, but his fingers pass through.

“Fuck.” Goosepimples are already puckering his skin and if he doesn't dry off, he's going to get a chill. 

Arthur's red tunic draped over the back of his chair catches Merlin’s eye. Hoping that the longer Arthur has been touching something means the longer Merlin can touch it, he says a quick prayer to the gods (ones that are obviously not listening to him) and reaches out. This time, his fingers close around cloth.

Trying to ignore the way that it still faintly smells of Arthur, Merlin dries himself off. He grabs his clothes, happy that he still can, and drapes them on the chair closest to the fire in hopes that they'll be dry come morning. (And that he'll be able to put them on again.)

Not wanting to sleep in Arthur's damp tunic, nor deal with the fuss it would cause if anyone saw the tunic floating around, Merlin places it back where he grabbed it. Crawling onto the bed, Merlin lays down next to Arthur as close as he dares.

His magic seems to thrum at the proximity, though, really, it might be trying to warm him up a bit. It really is too chilly to sleep naked on top of the covers.

Though, he hasn't tried to do any magic around Arthur due to fear of it not working, Merlin wonders if proximity to Arthur means that he could. The same way he can touch things that Arthur has.

“Onhǽte þá æðm,” Merlin whispers. It's not much, but the air around him seems to warm. Beside him, Arthur shifts, burrowing closer to Merlin.

Panic holds Merlin in place, but Arthur doesn't wake and some of the ever-present tension smooths away from his face. Not wanting to risk more, though giddy that he can do some basic magic, Merlin settles himself.

“Sleep well,” Merlin murmurs.


	6. Chapter 6

Pleasure honey thick and as warm as a summer breeze encompasses Arthur as consciousness seeps in. The lovely dream he'd been having of he and Merlin lying naked on the fresh grass under a tree fades as reality comes in. Though, it's not the harsh true reality, but a softer one where he's thinking of Merlin touching him, his cock fully hard, as they laze in bed together. Both the dream and the fantasy melt together and Arthur lets out a soft hum of appreciation. 

Stretching languidly, Arthur finds that at some point during the night he has shoved the bedding down to the foot of the bed. Even in the soft light of dawn, Arthur can see the damp spot on his nightshirt left by his leaking cock when he cracks his eyes open.

Not bothering to pretend to himself that he's not going to, Arthur shifts to get his right hand free and reaches down. Closing his eyes, he imagines that the warmth he feels is Merlin pressed along Arthur's left side. That it's Merlin's long fingers wrapping around his linen covered cock, hand staying still, holding, squeezing softly in tandem with Arthur's heartbeat.

It's something that Arthur has never thought to do before and now he wonders why not as it feels spectacular. It won't take long to get off, but Arthur thinks that he might want to take his time this morning before reality crashes down fully upon him.

Moving his hand slowly up and down his shaft, Arthur speculates what else Merlin might do differently, how having fingers longer and thinner than his own would feel wrapped around his cock.

Arthur has spent years watching Merlin's hands coming in and out his eyeline; at meals, in meetings, handing him weapons, putting on Arthur's clothes, taking them off. He knows Merlin's hands as well as he knows his own.

The fabric of his nightshirt is just enough of a barrier to confuse his sleepy mind into thinking that he can actually feel Merlin's fingers weaving with his own along his cock as he moves his (their) hand(s) up and down, up and down.

His fingers start to give little squeezes at the top of every stroke, pressing into the soft divot on the underside of the head.

“Fuck, Merlin,” Arthur moans and arches up when a bunching of fabric scrapes perfectly at the base of his cock; feeling exactly like the callus of Merlin's thumb. “Please, gods, Merlin.”

At his side, he can feel Merlin shudder, the hard outline of his cock pressing into Arthur's thigh.

Startled by the how real it seems, Arthur opens his eyes, but of course, he is alone in the bed. A shaft of icy reality slices through the lovely fantasy, so Arthur quickly slams his eyes shut.

Focusing on the feel of the hand(s) on his cock, the imagined heat along his side, the length of Merlin's rock-hard erection pressing into his thigh, Arthur begins to stroke himself again.

His nightshirt is starting to feel too rough on his cock, but he’s loathed to move it aside and face the absolute reality of only one hand touching him.

Still, Arthur doesn't think he can come like this. At least not without significant chafing.

In his imagination, Arthur lets go of his cock, letting Merlin take over. Arthur can feel two damp spots on his body: one from his cock, one from Merlin’s where he is starting to rut against Arthur’s leg.

“Merlin, harder,” Arthur mutters, needing more. He can feel the hem of his nightshirt being tugged up up, the naked outline of a cock on his thigh. “Fuck!”

It takes Arthur's lust-addled mind several moments to process then clear enough to realise that his nightshirt has been pulled up to the tops of his thighs.

“Merlin?” Arthur asks, not really expecting any sort of reply. So, it's a shock when cream coloured fabric slides up to reveal his cock, dark and throbbing. 

Now his heart is racing for an entirely new reason, until he realises that his left hand is fisted in the hem of his night shirt. That he’s fallen so far into his fantasy that he thought his hand was Merlin pressing into this side, that he didn’t notice pulling up his own clothing. 

An eddy of air caresses Arthur’s naked legs, swirling along his overheated cock causing it to twitch with need. 

Arthur automatically takes himself in hand, palming the top of his erection, gathering the moisture there, before sliding down to the base, half expecting to feel Merlin with him. But it's only his hand that he feels, none of the ghostly additions from earlier.

Maybe he's finally gone mad, but everything had felt so real. And there is damp spot on the side of his nightshirt. One he had no way of making.

“Merlin?” Arthur whispers, once again closing his eyes not wanting to see the empty space beside him. “Please, Merlin,” Arthur begs, not sure if it's to keep touching him or if he's just asking for Merlin to show himself.

It feels like forever, but then fingers weave between his own, squeezing slightly. He imagines (can feel?), Merlin's rapid breaths puffing over his shoulder, the heat of his body encompassing all of his, the long length of Merlin's erection rubbing against his thigh. That thought causes his own hand to move in tandem with (imaginary?) Merlin's movements.

“Fuck!” Arthur doesn't care if this is madness as it's one he'll gladly fall into. “Merlin.”

Never before have any of his fantasies felt so good, not even the one from the bath last night. Despite wanting to take it slowly this morning, the added element of (maybe) Merlin is proving to be too much and Arthur feels his climax rapidly approaching.

A thumb that is (definitely?) not his own, swirls over the head of Arthur's cock, toying with the slit, and Arthur's hips jerk up. Unable to stop himself, Arthur's eyes fly open, fixing on his cock and everything stops. He can see the faintest outline of another hand, one that he knows very well.

“Merlin?” Arthur asks again, heart pounding with more than desire. “Gods, Merlin, please.”

Not daring to hope, Arthur slowly trains his gaze up the ghostly hand, following the length of wiry arm, until he can finally take in the whole faint glow of Merlin lying next to him, completely naked, eyes closed, chest flushed, hips rocking.

“Oh, fuck,” Arthur gasps not really believing what he's seeing. On his thigh, Arthur can feel the slick left behind from Merlin’s cock as he continues to rut along Arthur's side. The image is too far from what Arthur thinks he knows to be and far too close to what he has dreamed about for years for him to be able to think what to do next. Not when the hands on his body aren’t only his own, not when Merlin is naked pressed against him, gasping, face a gorgeous wreck of want. 

Merlin's hand takes that moment to slide down to gently cup Arthur's bollocks and Arthur loses the ability to hold any coherent thought in his head.

As Arthur strokes his cock, Merlin toys with Arthur's bollocks, long middle finger sliding down to caress the sensitive skin behind them. Something more than fingers wrap around his cock, cradle his bollocks, moves lower to tease around his hole.

It's all too much, reality or not, the overloading of sensations has him arching his back, curling his toes. Breath freezes in his chest then gushes out in a long groan as Arthur comes, long and hard. 

The first bit of come lands somewhere near his throat, after that he loses track as pleasure flashes through his body like liquid gold. He can hardly breathe, and spots dance before his eyes. There's no part of him that isn't tingling and rippling with the echoes of one of the strongest releases he's ever had.

Arthur's not sure how long he lays there, panting, before any form of coherent thought returns. When it does, the gossamer feel of Merlin sliding against him from knee to shoulder, has him opening his eyes and turning his head.

Merlin is sort of there; a figure seen through thick fog, yet somehow made of the fog itself. Instinctively, Arthur reaches for him, but as his fingers pass through Merlin's hip, Arthur snatches his hand back.

Sorrow flashes over Merlin's face, mixing with ecstasy. Unable to touch, Arthur watches, throat too tight to speak.

“Arthur,” Merlin moans and it comes to Arthur as if a whisper from a great distance.

“Merlin, please,” Arthur manages to whisper, asking for far more than he could ever put into words. “Please.”

Ghostly eyes focused with a gut-clenching intensity on Arthur as if trying to convey a million things, if only he and Arthur could speak the same language. 

Words tumble in Arthur’s head and tangle on his tongue; there’s too much and not enough to say and Merlin is too bloody gorgeous as he is right now for Arthur to be able to form a proper sentence. 

Merlin must be able to read something of what Arthur is thinking as his mouth snaps shut as his body arches. Arthur can feel Merlin's release slicking the space between their bodies, warm and wonderful. Not reaching out a second time takes all of Arthur's self-control, but he doesn't think he can face the reality of Merlin not being there. Not really.

As Arthur’s thoughts finally start to coalesce into actual complex ideas, a growing dread clenches his stomach at the horrible notion that Merlin might be dead. That all Arthur will ever have of Merlin is his ghost; close but never truly with him again.

Chest heaving, Merlin continues to stare at Arthur as though he seems to catch his breath. It causes Arthur to wonder if ghosts need to breathe or if it’s only a habit to do so. 

Licking his lips, Merlin opens his mouth. Arthur can see his name form, but there's no accompanying sound. There's more than that, but Arthur can't make out what Merlin is saying. Then, before Merlin can try again, he starts to fade away.

“Don't go! Please, Merlin, don't leave.” But his begging is for not and Merlin fades away until the space beside him is once again empty. Then, suddenly, his night shirt begins to lower; hope surges through him “Merlin, please tell me how to help you?”

Of course, there is no answer.

If it weren't for the rapidly cooling come smeared over this hip and thigh, Arthur would truly be questioning his sanity. Well, he would be questioning it more than he already is.

Sitting up, Arthur looks for any other evidence of Merlin, but there's nothing to see. In frustration, Arthur picks up his pillow and to hurl it across the chamber. Before it gets more than an arm length away, Arthur watches in astonishment as it stops, floats for a moment, then flies through the air and smacks him in the face.

“Merlin!” Arthur barks in outrage. Even as a ghost (pleases, gods don’t be a ghost), Merlin would be insubordinate. Rather than the usual (fond) irritation that fills Arthur at that evidence of Merlin’s insubordination, pure joy engulfs Arthur that Merlin might actually be there. It's an actual physical warmth Arthur can feel all over his body.

Though, from the slight gold glow, Arthur realises that the joy is probably not his alone.

“Show yourself, Merlin,” Arthur orders the seemingly empty chamber. Merlin does not appear which is pretty much the expected result. “I have no idea how to make you appear.”

Flinging off the bed covers, Arthur stands. The stones of the floor are cold under his feet, but he ignores the discomfort. Pacing the length of the chamber, Arthur racks his brain, trying to figure out how to communicate with Merlin. Idly, his fingers run over the viscous patch on his side where his night shirt is starting to stick; unwilling to rub away the only tangible evidence he has of Merlin's presence.

However, his own release, he decides to clean up. Picking up the damp and cold towelling that he had discarded the night before, Arthur raises his nightshirt and wipes himself as efficiently as possible. When he's done, he tosses the towelling aside.

Much like the pillow, it doesn't hit the floor. This time, it hangs in the air, before floating back over to Arthur. It waves in his face for several moments before it suddenly falls to the floor.

Bending down, Arthur picks it back up. Cautiously, he tosses it straight up in the air, watching it go up and come partway down before hovering at eye level.

“But why only the towelling?” Arthur asks the space in front of him. “Why nothing else?” But, no, Merlin had also lifted his nightshirt. Maybe he could only touch fabric. “Can you make my bed?”

An echo of an exasperated sigh reaches Arthur's ears and as he watches as his covers moved up the bed in a haphazard fashion.

“What else can you touch?” Arthur asks, eyes darting around the chamber expecting just about anything. Disappointment swamps him when nothing happens.

There's a tug on the sleeve of his nightshirt. Letting himself be lead over to the desk, Arthur wonders what this will prove. Moving like a puppet with invisible strings, Arthur follows the gentle pull until his hand hovers over the quill. Then nothing.

“You want me to write you a note?” Arthur asks, confusion lacing his words. The exasperated sigh is far more audible this time, and Arthur fancies that he can feel the barest of air stirring by his right ear.

Far less gently than earlier, Arthur's arm is moved, his hand thumping down on the quill. It rests there for several long moments. Finally, worry filling him, Arthur pulls his hand away.

“Merlin?”

As if by magic, the quill pops up right and goes to the pot, however, when it gets there, no ink appears on the tip.

Frustration that is not his own, rolls over him. Reaching out, Arthur takes the quill and dips it in the pot. Starting to understand how this curse (please let it be a curse and not that this is the only way Merlin's ghost can communicate with him), Arthur put his left hand on a piece of parchment and lets go of the quill.

As he watches, Merlin's familiar scrawl starts to flow along the top of the page.

# # #

'Get Gaius to help,' Merlin writes as quickly as he can, unsure how long he'll be able to hold the quill for.

“You want me to get Gaius?” Arthur asks.

“For pity sake, it's not as if you can't read what I wrote,” Merlin mutters before using a third of the page to print 'YES'.

“No need to be snippy about it,” Arthur huffs, but he's grinning as he heads to the door.

Scrambling after him, Merlin grabs the back of his nightshirt.

“What? I thought you wanted me to get Gaius.”

“Idiot,” Merlin says, knowing full well that Arthur won't be able to hear him. Giving the nightshirt a couple of good shakes, Merlin then tugs Arthur towards his wardrobe.

“Oh, right,” Arthur says, a blush rising to colour his cheeks.

Naked, Merlin leans back against the bedpost, arms and legs crossed, he watches Arthur dress. The residual heat spell he cast the night before is fading quickly without being in Arthur’s immediate proximity.

“You could help me, you know, this is your job,” Arthur complains as he hastily dons his clothes.

Merlin's cock twitches at the play of muscles, the nimble way Arthur tightens and ties various laces as a myriad of ideas jump full formed to the forefront of his mind. Despite the fact that the orgasm he had moments ago was one of the best of his life, Merlin is fairly confident in his ability to get hard again. 

Arthur has been a very strong motivating factor for most aspects of Merlin’s life for years now.

“Gods, you're beautiful,” Merlin says, using the anonymity of his current state to look his fill. To say, out loud while Arthur is awake and in front of him, what he thinks. “And I want nothing more than to spend days, weeks in bed with you. Learning your body and having you learn mine.”

“Merlin,” Arthur says sharply.

The command in his tone scares Merlin enough to worry that Arthur might have heard him. Merlin lets out a sigh of relief upon seeing that Arthur is looking by the wardrobe, as if Merlin was standing there ready to help.

“Right, stay here, I'll get Gaius and we'll try and sort this all out.”

Arthur stands still a moment longer as if hoping for a response, when he doesn't get one, he all but runs to the door, closing it firmly behind him.

With Arthur gone, a shiver racks Merlin’s body and every hair stands on end as the cold of the morning wraps around his naked body. 

Rushing over to the chair, Merlin grabs at his clothes. Relief washing over him as he is able to grab his trousers. Grabbing the towelling, Merlin make certain to use a clean (meaning a section without Arthur’s come on it) to wipe himself down before dressing quickly.

Dressed, there's nothing else for him to do, but wait for Arthur's return. And think. And wonder. Though he tries to focus on his situation, what will happen if (WHEN!) he becomes visible and solid again, all Merlin can think about is the memory of the faint sensation of Arthur’s body under his hands, of the way he looked when he came, of the confusion and love and fear and hope of what will happen when (IF?) they talk about it. 

It seems to take ages longer than it should, but eventually the door swings open to reveal Arthur 

“About time. What the–” Merlin’s words cut off as he sees that Arthur is carrying a tray loaded down with enough food to feed half a dozen knights. “Arthur, do orgasms turn you into a famished beast?” Merlin asks, knowing that Arthur won't be able to hear him.

“I suspect that all you've had to eat the last five days is whatever has been left on my plate, so I swung by the kitchen after I asked Gaius to meet me in my chambers.”

Feeling like an arsehole, Merlin makes his way over to the table.

The first thing that Arthur reaches for is the orange; one of Merlin's favourite foods. Love and happiness fill Merlin as he watches Arthur peel the orange.

“I'm not sure how this works, but here,” Arthur says, holding up the first segment, juice dripping down his fingers in a tantalizing way.

Gingerly, Merlin reaches out, his fingers close around the piece without issue. If he thought about trying with his lips first, well, that's something for maybe later. (For when he's seeable again, for when he knows Arthur wants more than an occasional someone to share mutual pleasure, but nothing more. For when Arthur has forgiven him.)

They finish the orange and at Arthur's request, Merlin directs Arthur's next choice. Thirsty, Merlin choose water. Though the silence is one of necessity, it feels calm and relaxed.

Arthur has just called for another jug of water, when Gaius walks in.

“Merlin?” Gaius asks, peering around the chamber.

“As I told you, we won't be able to see or hear him,” Arthur says, “but I'm fairly certain he can both see and hear us.”

“Can you tell me what happened, Merlin? Why no one can see you?” Gaius asks, still searching the room.

It's tedious, but eventually Merlin is able to write out everything he knows about his condition. Well, some of it he keeps to himself as he doesn’t think Gaius really needs to know every detail. From the colour on Arthur's cheeks, Arthur knows at least some of the facts that Merlin is withholding.

“Well, I'm not sure what to make of this my boy, but I'll return with some of the books you've spent the most time with to see if you can read them,” Gaius finally says after rereading Merlin's story for the sixth time.

“Magic books?” Arthur asks archly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You must understand, Sire, for years it was a death penalty to even mention these texts, let alone have them,” Gaius says, obviously having heard the anger and betrayal in Arthur's voice as easily as Merlin had.

“When all of this is sorted, the three of us will be having a long, frank discussion about the last four years,” Arthur tells them firmly.

That much of the promised 'discussion' will be in a very loud voice, Merlin has no doubt. Not that he can fault Arthur for anything he's feeling, after all Merlin has spent the entire time that they've known each other lying to him.

As has Gaius.

# # #

The sun is far closer to evening than midday when Arthur finally returns to his chambers.

“Before you say anything,” Arthur starts as soon as the door is a crack open, “I come bearing food.” He lifts a tray filled with cuts of meat, a full loaf of bread still giving off heat, three different kinds of cheeses, and four apples high in the air.

“Forgiven,” Merlin says, stomach growling as he scents the bread. “But you could have stopped by at some point.” The royal chambers are well appointed, but Merlin had lost the ability to touch his books ages ago and had been left with nothing to do but think. 

“I'm the king and I still have a kingdom to oversee,” Arthur says, as if Merlin had spoken out loud. “Do you know how many issues we had to deal with at the council meeting? And the men that my father gave seats to squabble worse than the stable dogs over a fresh bone.”

“Yes, yes, you're very busy and important. Do you know how bored I've been?” Merlin demanded secure in the knowledge that Arthur couldn't hear him.

“I’m sure you spent your afternoon pining away for me,” Arthur jokes, then freezes, eyes darting around, a flush rising to his cheeks. He thumps the platter down on the table and jerks out a chair for Merlin to sit in. 

Without another word, Arthur pours a goblet of water from the jug sitting on the table, he takes a sip and plunks it down in front of Merlin’s chair.

Too thirsty to bother sorting through the implications of Arthur’s statement, Merlin guzzles down the water. While it might be true that he’s gone longer without drinking, rarely has it lasted over the course of days and Merlin feels as if he could drink a well dry. 

“It really is disconcerting to see the goblet rise, tilt, and nothing pour out of it,” Arthur says as he bites into an apple. 

Merlin barely has the time to set down his goblet before the apple is thrown at him. “Prat,” Merlin mutters as he bites into the fruit. One benefit from being invisible and inaudible, the only one as far as Merlin in concerned, is that he doesn’t have to hold back on any of his comments. Not that he holds back much usually, but he’s enjoying not being thwacked for them. 

“Why haven’t you–” Morgana’s words cut off mid-tirade, her eyes fixed on the apple Merlin is holding, which appears to float of its own accord above the table.

“As king, I feel that you should start knocking on my door before you storm in,” Arthur drawls, taking a large bite of his own apple. 

The struggle between berating Arthur for something and not saying anything about the floating apple is apparent on Morgana’s face. 

“You really can be an arsehole,” Merlin says, debating the whether or not he should lob his apple at Arthur’s head.

Reaching over, Merlin settles for tugging sharply on Arthur’s sleeve. 

“Yes, fine,” Arthur says, giving the chair in which Merlin sits at dirty look. “Morgana, what can I help you with.”

The urge to hurl the apple is nearly unstoppable. This time, Merlin jerks Arthur’s sleeve hard enough to have him nearly toppling out of his chair.

“What the hell is going on?” Morgana demands, the ice in her tone barely coating the fear.

“Merlin seems to have become rather incorporeal,” Arthur tells her as he rights himself, then continues to calmly eat his apple. 

“Big word for you, Arthur,” Merlin says, setting his apple down on the table. Even when he is no longer holding it, Morgana’s eyes seem fixed to it. 

“But, you claimed that Merlin was a sorcerer.” Morgana manages to tear her eyes from Merlin’s apple to focus on Arthur. “Were you tricked? Has someone cast a spell on Merlin?”

“He is a sorcerer,” Arthur bites out, setting his apple down with a sour look on his face that Merlin suspects has nothing to do with the ripeness of the fruit. 

“But you hate magic,” Morgana says, sounding uncertain. “You said you hated Merlin.”

“I never said I hated him,” Arthur counters and hope flares in Merlin. “What I hated, still hate, am still furious over, are all the lies. The years and years of lies, both overt and subtle. That I don’t know what part of the past is true or not.”

“But…” Morgana trails off, looking stricken and confused. “Magic is illegal.”

“There are many laws that do not properly cover what they govern,” Arthur says by way of not giving any sort of answer at all. 

“Magic is evil,” whispers Morgana. 

“Lies are evil,” Arthur counters. 

And there’s where their problems meet head on: Merlin’s magic and lies smashing against Arthur’s anger and broken trust. Merlin doesn’t think that Arthur will ever truly trust him again. Not deep down in his heart. 

“Not magic?” Morgana looks bewildered and lost. 

“I don’t think magic is any more evil than a sword or crossbow,” Arthur says slowly as if testing the words out. “I think like any strong weapon or position of power, it’s how one uses it that makes it good or evil.”

In his chair, Merlin sits stunned, not believing what he’s hearing. After all the years, after all the admittedly awful things they have been through because of magic, that Arthur can think that magic is not inherently evil is a revelation. 

From the way Morgana is gaping at Arthur, Merlin’s world is not the only one that has been shaken by Arthur’s statement. 

“You have never said anything like this before,” Morgan says, looking paler than normal, eyes wide, and Merlin can see her hands are trembling. 

Abruptly, Merlin understands that Morgana’s situation is very similar to his own and that Arthur saying that magic itself is not evil, but being furious about all the lies that Merlin has told must be filling her with the same hope and despair. 

“There was no point in saying anything about this before,” Arthur says, keeping Uther’s name unspoken if not unthought. “And, the issue of magic users hasn’t come up recently.”

“What are you going to do about Merlin?” Morgana asks. 

“We’re trying to undo what has been done.” Arthur looks to where Merlin is sitting. “Though, as we have no idea what’s been done, it’s proving a bit difficult.”

“You know that’s not what I mean,” Morgana says softly.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Arthur says, returning his attention to her, “but I can assure you, that it has nothing to do with fire or cutting off his head.”

“There are other ways to punish someone.”

“He won’t be hurt,” Arthur says, the command of a king running through his softly spoken words.

“I hope you figure out how to return Merlin to his normal state soon.”

“There’s nothing normal about Merlin,” Arthur jokes.

“Oy!” Merlin shouts, startling himself out of stupor. Arthur’s head snaps in Merlin’s direction, but after a long look, he turns his gaze back to Morgana. 

Morgana gives Arthur as sad, broken smile. “Let me know if I can help,” she says. “I have a bit of a headache right now, but tomorrow.” 

Without another word, she turns and leaves the chamber, closing the door behind her; something Arthur had failed to do earlier. 

Worry fills Merlin; Morgana had looked so fragile, ready to collapse. The years of secrets and lies that she too has been keeping must be pressing down, suffocating her and he feels like an idiot for not thinking of how his situation would affect her as well. Now that she knows about his magic, Merlin vows to talk to her as soon as he is able. To let her know that she is not alone and to try and help her anyway he can. 

That is, if she’s not too furious with him. 

“Let’s finish our meal,” Arthur suggests, though he too is looking at the door with a worried expression.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I'm traveling throughout the UK with family and only have had spotty internet access. Also a very nasty round of PMS with a side of stomach flu and/or food poisoning.

His nose was filled with dust, his eyes felt like they were ready to bleed by the time Gaius finally left. And that was only after Arthur and Merlin had promised to spend what was left of the evening looking through the stack of mouldy books that Gaius claimed came from a hidden room in the library. It is a lie that Arthur is willing to let slide by for now as there are so many other bigger issues to concern himself over. 

Well, one huge issue that spawned a dozen or so other issues of varying sizes all caused by Merlin.

Arthur had spent most of his day away from his chambers, only stopping back in twice to make sure Merlin had something to eat and drink.

“You’re more trouble than a favourite hound,” Arthur had remarked during one of his stops, only to have a grape narrowly miss hitting him. “Less useful at the moment. At least a hound is good company.”

Though he claimed to be too busy to stay, the truth was Arthur wasn’t sure how to behave around an invisible Merlin. 

Also, there’s the whole shared orgasm incident that had happened that neither one has done anything about. When Arthur had woken up hard and aching the night before, he’d lain in bed, trying to breathe evenly, and willing his erection away. That tactic had worked no better then than when he’d tried it as a young, randy knight surrounded by fit boys and men training in various disciplines. Being clad in a suit of armour had been a special level of uncomfortable.

Eventually, Arthur had drifted into an uneasy doze, unsure of where Merlin was spending the night and wishing that he’d thought to ask Merlin so that Arthur could wank in the knowledge that he was alone. Or, maybe not, and have Merlin in the room with him. 

Now, as night neared again, Arthur wasn’t sure what to say. If he should ask Merlin if he’d slept beside him the night before. If not, had Merlin crept into his bed when he realised that Arthur was hard and wanted him. Was it Merlin during the bath? Did Merlin get as much pleasure as Arthur? Did he want it to happen again or was Merlin mortified and never wanted the subject brought up? 

Gods, he hated this type of discussion. Not that he’d ever truly had cause before, but if this experience is anything to go by, Arthur hopes to hever find himself in a similar one. (That, and if he could have Merlin by his side for the rest of his life, he won’t ever need to.)

Despite spending most of the day trying to sort out what he wants to say, Arthur still has no idea what to say after what had transpired that morning. More, he doesn’t want to say anything without being able to see and hear Merlin’s responses. 

Arthur wonders if he’ll have the words tonight to ask Merlin to share his bed. Even if it’s only making him a spot to sleep. They’ve slept beside each other countless times in the past, this should be no different. Except, now Arthur knows (sort of) what Merlin’s hands feel like on his body, he’s seen (the faded) face Merlin makes when pleasure takes him. Also, if Merlin sleeps beside Arthur in his bed, Arthur doesn't think he’ll ever be able to sleep again without wanting Merlin next to him.

Feeling his cock twitch, Arthur stands, chair scraping as he pushes back from his work table. Even trying to figure out what happened to Merlin can no longer keep his mind away from dangerous topics.

“Gods, I’m hungry,” Arthur says,eyes and nose itching from the dusty book he slammed shut. “Fetch me something to eat.” Freezing midway towards the pitcher of wine and two goblets sitting on the table by the fire, Arthur thinks he can hear Merlin calling him a clotpole. “Right, I’ll do that, shall I. Perhaps, not so much with the fetching, but with the calling for a servant to do the actual fetching.”

Too restless to read another word, Arthur wanders aimlessly around his chambers as they wait for food to be brought up to them. He wonders exactly where Merlin is. For whatever reason, Arthur has the strong impression that he’s still by books staring at a page this is in a language Arthur has never even imagined, let alone known how to decipher. 

Being unable to see Merlin has many drawbacks, not the least of which Arthur muses, is not being able to see Merlin when they’re ‘talking’. Not that they’ve ‘talked’ about anything besides making Merlin corporeal again. And, though he is loath to do it, Arthur knows that if he and Merlin are ever to be anything to each other, they need to have a very frank discussion about trust and honesty and lies and fear.

A tug on his belt jolts Arthur from his thoughts.

“What?” Arthur asks, though Merlin doesn’t answer verbally, the tug has him turning towards the door where he can hear voices. 

After the incident with Morgana, they’d been very careful to not get caught unawares again. 

“Damn it,” Arthur mutters as he realises that he has completely forgotten to seek her out today. Nor has she come here to help with research. Something she is actually quite good at. Tomorrow, he’ll seek her out and ask her to help. Maybe try and find out why she looked so stricken when they’d spoken of magic. 

Striding over to the table, Arthur pulls the bench back from the table for Merlin and waits several seconds. 

“I have no idea if you’re seated, but even you should have managed it by now.”

From the sharp tug on his belt, Arthur assumes that Merlin is seated.

‘Prat’ appears in charcoal on a piece of parchment that Arthur had been using earlier to make notes on. 

“That’s a dangerous thing for a man to write to his king,” Arthur tries to keep his tone imperious, but he can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips when ‘Prat’ turns into a scribbled ‘Sat’’ . Though the anger and betrayal are close to the surface, the overwhelming joy that Merlin is alive and back in Camelot mostly stay on top. 

There is no doubt in Arthur’s mind that his fury and hurt will come out from time to time over the next weeks and months, but he hopes that if nothing else, having Merlin disappear has taught him that he’d rather seath silently at Merlin than rage without him.

There’s a sharp knock and a muffled “Sire?”

“Come in,” Arthur commands, snatching the parchment up as the door opens. Arthur tucks it into the waistband of his trousers before George can see it. Arthur isn’t certain, but he suspects that George might recognise Merlin’s writing. If nothing else, George would probably wonder at the odd note. 

Two platters of food are deposited in front of him, far more than he could eat on day when he’d trained from sunup to sundown, let alone one where he’d been in this meeting or that. However, George doesn’t comment on it. A pang of regret and longing for any of the comments Merlin would have made startles Arthur. He misses Merlin fiercely, despite the fact that Merlin is sitting (invisible and silent) on the bench to his right.

“Have a good evening, Sire,” George says, tone perfectly bland.

“You as well,” Arthur replies automatically, looking over the stew and trying to figure if it will fall under the water rule or the grape rule; meaning that Merlin seems to be able to drink a whole cup of water if Arthur takes a sip, but he can only eat grapes that Arthur has individually touched.

Before he can ask Merlin what he wants to try, the door to his chambers bursts open, and Gwaine storms in, face set in hard lines. 

“Yes, thank you for knocking, do come in, Gwaine,” Arthur says, back going up at the obvious anger directed his way. This is his bloody space and the amount of people who have come in uninvited this last several days is bordering on ridiculous. 

“Arthur–”

“How is it, I wonder,” Arthur says, leaning back in his chair and overriding Gwaine’s diatribe, “that my chambers now appears to be more popular than that of a brothel’s most talented employee?”

“How are you joking about sex when Merlin is still missing?” Gwaine demands.

“It was more a comment on how many people feel that they have the right to come into my chambers without asking for permission. More, that they are demanding that I provide them with something.”

“You know, I thought you were different than any of the other arseholes who lord over us all.” Disdain drips from every world. “I thought you at least cared about Merlin, but all you care about is your own comfort and ease.”

“Watch yourself, Gwaine,” Arthur says through clenched teeth, as he pushes back from the table and slowly comes to his feet.

“I should watch myself?” Gwaine asks incredulously. “Me? I’m not the one who has shown more caring for his horse than his manservant.” 

“Gwaine, I’ll grant you some leeway due to your overwrought state,” Arthur manages, barely holding onto his temper, “but you have said enough.”

“I haven’t said enough by half!” Gwaine steps right up into Arthur’s personal space. “I can’t believe that you left Merlin out there without a second thought.”

“Do not presume to know what thoughts I do or don’t have.”

“This is Merlin. Someone who I thought, if nothing else was your friend.”

“You are presuming too much,” Arthur tells Gwaine. Whatever Arthur might feel for Merlin is certainly none of Gwaine’s business. Not when Arthur himself hasn’t sorted everything out yet.

“No, the problem is that I haven’t presumed enough.”

“It’s time for you to go, Gwaine,” Arthur orders coldly, hands clenching into fists. Over the years, Gwaine has pushed the limits of decorum, but tonight he seems intent on obliterating them completely. Arthur has not failed to take note of the attachment between Merlin and Gwaine. It is one he has forced himself not to question over the years. 

“To hell with that!” The toes of Gwaine’s boots bump into Arthur’s. “How could you? There is nothing Merlin could have done to warrant this abandonment.”

“It’s not for you to question my decisions,” Arthur tells him imperiously. That Gwaine has questioned Arthur’s decisions in the past is ignored. That Gwaine is pushing so hard because of Merlin causes Arthur’s blood to boil in something perilously close to jealousy.

“No, that was something Merlin did. Now that he’s gone there’s no one else would dare call you on your behaviour,” Gwaine snarls. “Not that you even care about Merlin’s disappearance.”

Arthur’s heart skips a beat at that thought and he has to remind himself that Merlin is not gone, that he is, in fact, in the room. That he is invisible and mostly insubstantial is a problem, but one that Arthur is certain that they’ll solve. (They have to. There’s no way he’ll let Merlin stay in his current state.)

“His whereabouts are of great concern to me.” 

“Concern?” Gwaine asks with incredulity, face red. “You have a shit way of showing it.”

Rage snaps its leash and surges through Arthur; he is the king and he is done with everyone questioning his decisions and feelings. 

“You are dismissed,” Arthur says tightly. 

Gwaine takes a step back.It’s only due to all the years of training and fighting with Gwaine that Arthur dodges the blow. 

The calm of battle settles over Arthur mixing with disbelief and fury that Gwaine has attacked him in earnest. 

Rolling to the balls of his feet, Arthur readies himself for a hard fight. One where he does not plan on holding back. 

“Gwaine!” Leon’s voice slices through the room, harsh and commanding. “What they hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I was letting Arthur know about my displeasure of his treatment of Merlin.” Gwaine’s look of contempt nearly has Arthur throwing his own punch. “To remind him of his promise to Lady Morgana that he would have people looking for Merlin this morning. A promise he has not fulfilled.”

Regret fills Arthur again at not having spoken with Morgana at some point today. Though, Gwaine mustn’t have spoke to her either if he’s still under the impression that Arthur was going to be sending out people to search for Merlin today. Either that, or Morgana has kept his, rather Merlin’s, secret. 

“Sire?” Leon asks.

Whether he’s questioning Arthur’s broken vow or how to deal with Gwaine, Arthur can’t tell. Either way, Arthur gives him a small nod of thanks when Leon wraps his hand around Gwaine’s bicep. It will not be enough to hold Gwaine back if he tries for another attack, but hopefully the touch is enough to restrain him. Though, at this point, Arthur wouldn’t mind a good brawl. 

“I spoke with Gaius about it this morning,” Arthur says tightly by way of explanation to Leon.

“You spoke with Gaius about a search for Merlin?” Leon asks, confusion colouring every word.

“He means that he spoke with the person least likely to question him and with no ability to command a search,” Gwaine retorts, nearly vibrating with anger. 

“Gaius would be just as concerned about what happened to Merlin as anyone,” Leon tries, though he still looks perplexed.

“It’s very clear to everyone that Arthur isn’t concerned in the least about what happened to Merlin.” 

“I care about what has happened to him!”

“Like hell you do!”

“We’ve been researching in every spare moment I have!”

“We?” Leon questions, looking around Arthur’s chambers as if expecting to see someone pop out of the wardrobe or from behind the changing screen.

“Gaius and I,” Arthur says, pointing at the stacks of books and parchment on his desk. “I’ve spent hours researching.”

“You?” Merlin’s scoff of indignation sounds so real that it’s all Arthur can do not to turn and shoot Merlin a warning look.

“Why do you need to research?” Gwaine asks suspiciously. “What has happened to Merlin?”

“He disappeared,” Arthur says, not willing to elaborate further. Merlin has hidden his magic since coming to Camelot and Arthur doesn’t feel it’s his place to reveal it.

“You think he’s literally disappeared?” Gwaine asks slowly, a different type of tension tightening his body.

“I’m not sure exactly what has happened, hence the research.”

“I want to help,” Gwaine says firmly, shaking off Leon’s hand.

“When was the last time you opened a book?” Arthur asks. “Read something other than a wager sheet?”

Gwaine bristles, anger once again hardening his features. “Merlin is my friend and I want to help.”

“I’m done for the night,” Arthur says as a way of brushing off Gwaine’s offer. “Come back in the morning.”

“I’m not tired.” Gwaine takes a step towards Arthur’s desk. “Neither is Leon.”

“But I am and I’ve already gone through all those book,” Arthur lies easily. 

“But–”

“Tomorrow,” Leon says, tugging on Gwaine’s arm. 

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Gwaine promises, giving Arthur a long, penetrating look. 

“Goodnight, Sire,” Leon says, escorting Gwaine to the door of Arthur’s chambers. 

“Good night, Leon.” Arthur gives Leon another nod of thanks. When both men are gone, Arthur firmly locks his door. 

Making his way over to the table, Arthur once again takes his seat and starts poking at the food. In silence, he and Merlin eat supper; never before has Arthur missed Merlin’s continuous chattering so much. It turns out that stew follows the water rule.

“I swear to you, Merlin, that we’ll figure this out. We’ll fix this.” Arthur swirls the wine around in his goblet before drinking deeply.

A gentle warmth surrounds him. For a moment, Arthur is too filled with love and contentment to react. When he does, Arthur startles to his feet, hand wrapping around the hilt of his knife as he waves it around in search of whatever caused the warmth. 

“Who’s there?” Arthur demands, heart pounding as he searches his room, but there is nothing there. 

There’s a sharp tug on his left sleeve; despite being on edge, Arthur knows that it’s Merlin. 

“Magic,” Arthur hisses. The tug comes again, this time it doesn’t stop Merlin has extracted the piece of parchment that arthur tucked into his belt before their meal. Picking it up the piece of charcoal, he hands it to Merlin.

‘Describe!’ is written and underlined. 

“Not sure,” Arthur says, unwilling to reveal what he’d felt. 

“TRY!!!’

“There was warmth,” Arthur says slowly. “A feeling of wellbeing. I didn’t feel threatened. It’s gone now.” 

To his right, there’s a distinct snort. Automatically, Arthur swipes at Merlin, his hand making solid contact. 

# # #

The solid thwap of Arthur’s hand on Merlin’s chest is a dull ache that is far superseded by the shock that Arthur actually touched him. That Merlin was solid again.

“Merlin?” Arthur asked, staring right at him. 

Unable to stop himself, Merlin’s mouth falls open and he starts to laugh as relief and joy courses through him. 

“Thanks the gods!” Merlin manages to get out. 

“Merlin?” Arthur’s voice is sad and scared and Merlin can’t figure out why until he sees Arthur’s hand pushing through his arm. 

“Fuck!” Just as the joy had filled Merlin up moment ago, defeat and fear now take their place.

“I know you’re there,” Arthur says, waving his hand up and down slowly, passing into the side of Merlin’s arm. “At least, I think you’re here.”

It burns a bit where Arthur is pushing through flesh and muscle and bone, and Merlin isn’t certain if this is an improvement or not. 

A sigh rushes out of Arthur as he backs away. “I have no idea if I was touching you or not. Not after that first time.”

“You were,” Merlin answers softly, rubbing the spot on his chest where he swears he can still feel Arthur’s hand.

“Let’s try again,” Arthur says, voice one that he’s used hundreds of times before to order Merlin about.

However, no matter what they do, Artur is never able to makes contact. 

The sputtering of one of the candles finally puts a halt to Arthur’s attempts to will Merlin into being corporeal again.

“Perhaps we should try again tomorrow,” Arthur says, trying not to let his defeat leach into his words. 

And, that is when everything becomes uncomfortable between them. Somehow, they’ve managed to go hours and not to even hint at what had happened on the bed that morning. (Or the night before in the tub. And Merlin knows that there’s no way that Arthur hasn’t figured out that Merlin was in some way involved in that too.)

Maybe Arthur plans to forget everything, convince himself that he was just having very vivid fantasies. Find a suitable consort and raise an heir. 

Finally, after Arthur is in his night clothes and standing awkwardly beside his bed he looks directly at Merlin. Which should be impossible due to Merlin being invisible and all, that there should be no way for Arthur to really know where he is, except Arthur seems to be getting better and better at knowing where Merlin is. It makes Merlin’s brain ache trying to figure out all the new rules of his current state. 

“I know that you’ve been sleeping next to me for at least the last two nights,” Arthur tells him. “You might as well be here tonight.” There’s a pause as Arthur gets into bed. “Under the covers with me, I mean.”

Indecision freezes Merlin in place. On one hand it’s an invitation that Merlin has been fantasising about for years. On the other, it’s not exactly the one he wants and given the last couple of nights, sleeping next to Arthur has resulted in predictable, if confusing and amazing outcomes. (Merlin snorts at ‘outcomes’ as really there was probably a more appropriate word to use given Merlin’s concerns.) 

“Merlin,” Arthur calls his name in the way that only Arthur can and Merlin’s feet comply without his brain giving the command. 

Taking off his boots, socks, jacket, and trousers, Merlin crawls in next to Arthur. 

It takes a while for Merlin to relax enough to realise that he can feel Arthur next to him, more than just his warmth. After they were done wriggling and squirming and Arthur muttering vaguely, Merlin has ended up on the left side of the bed, nearly falling off, pressed up against Arthur’s left side.

Arthur, it seemed had no problem dropping off into sleep after hogging most of the bed and Merlin can feel the rise and fall of Arthur’s body as he breathes deeply. Tentatively, Merlin lifts his hand and he feel the hard outline of Arthur’s arm beneath his fingers. It lasts only for an instant before his hand passes through.

When he tries a second time, laying his hand lightly on the center of Arthur’s chest it stays there. Thrilled and worried, Merlin doesn’t think that he’s going to be able to get a wink of sleep. 

# # #

Despite the fact that blankets no longer cover him, Merlin is warm, nearly hot. Floating, more asleep than awake, Merlin think it might be Arthur that’s he’s pressed up against. However, Merlin can’t tell if he’s awake or if this is a dream and he doesn’t want to move in case it’s the latter and he wants to linger on the cusp of wakefulness for as long as he can. 

Merlin feels safe and happy. As if the heat running from knees to chest has seeped all around him, cocooning him, making him feel protected and wanted.

And hard. There’s no ignoring the fact that his cock is rock hard where it’s trapped between his own body and Arthur’s. The layers of fine and rough cloth are a thin, if incredibly solid, barrier between their bodies. 

If this were a dream, it would be so easy for Merlin to lift Arthur’s night shirt, to push down his own pants. To take Arthur’s cock in hand and stroke him nice and slow, to draw it out, to rut against Arthur, the prickle of the fine hairs on his thigh rubbing along the underside of Merlin’s cock as Merlin moved in tandem with his hand. To lick and nibble and taste Arthur’s skin as sweat slowly started to coat their bodies as they climbed closer and closer to release. 

It’s the very real ache, both in his cock and in the center, that finally pulls Merlin into full consciousness. 

Beside him, Arthur is still, breathing steadily in and out however, Merlin’s own heart is beating too swiftly for him to tell if Arthur is asleep or not. If Merlin wants him to be. If he is, maybe Merlin can take himself in hand (of course he capable, but whether he should or not...) and wank himself raw with the feel and scent of Arthur filling him up. 

Though, maybe if Arthur is awake and hard and wanting a repeat of what happened the last time they were in this very bed. There’s no suppressing the groan that escapes his lips as Merlin tries very hard not to think that. (Okay, mostly tries and fails spectacularly.)

“I know you’re awake,” Arthur says softly, though his voice loud in the quiet of the middle of night. “Something changed.”

“I’m considering wanking myself while I lie next to you in your bed?” Merlin asks facetiously. “It’s something I’ve thought about before, but never with any sort of seriousness until I found myself pretty much incorporeal and unhearable sleeping next to you in your bed.”

“Merlin?” Arthur asks uncertainly.

“I’m answering you, you numpty, though it’s not as if you could hear me,” Merlin says, finally opening his eyes. 

The only light is from the banked fire, but even so, Merlin can seel that Arthur is looking right at him. 

Unable to maintain eye contact, even Arthur doesn’t know that they are, Merlin’s flicks his gazed down to the rapid rise and fall of Arthur’s chest.

“If you’re awake,” Arthur whispers, stopping Merli from looking further south, “tug on my night shirt.”

Reaching out, Merlin grabs the fabric covering Arthur’s thigh and pulls up his nightshirt, watching in fascination as the hem rises to reveal Arthur’s amazing thigh and their clenched muscles. 

“Merlin,” Arthur growls, “I mean the sleeve or something!”

“Oh! Shite!” Merlin’s fist clenches around the fabric, frozen in horror at the liberties he’d taken. Never mind magic, this was a push too far and Arthur will confine him to dungeons for sure, banish him, cut off his offending bits. 

“However,” Arthur says, cutting into Merlin’s panic, “far be it from me to stop you from something you really want to do.”

There is no way Merlin can move, no way he can keep pulling the material up, and no matter how much he tells himself to let the fucking nightshirt go, his fingers won’t unclench. 

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Arthur says, shifting away slightly. “I mean it’s not an order or anything like that. I would never. I could never. Please tell me you know…”

Unable to listen to Arthur continue to flail, Merlin slowly pulls the nightshirt up until Arthur’s cock, hard and twitching, is exposed to the chilly night air.

“Oh, gods,” Arthur groans. He’s fully hard and Merlin wonders just what Arthur had been thinking about before he spoke.

Two tendrils of gold flow over Arthur’s chest, sliding over the fabric like water trickling over rocks, going to where Merlin most wants to touch. Merlin can feel every dip and rise of the soft fabric as if it was his hand moving down Arthur’s torso. The tendrils curl around Arthur’s cock seconds before Merlin’s fingers do. Dimly, Merlin thinks that his magic might want Arthur as much as he does. Never before has it reacted this way about anyone else. 

It’s a shock to feel the hot, solid length of Arthur’s erection.

From the hiss of breath, Merlin thinks that Arthur might be able to feel something too. Not wanting to have his fingers go through Arthur’s cock (something that causes his own erection to shrink slightly), Merlin keeps his grip loose as he slowly moves his hand up and down. The gold tendrils seem to follow Merlin’s motion.

Arthur starts to rock his hips in time to Merlin’s strokes causing tingling pleasure to run along the underside of Merlin’s cock where it’s pressed against Arthur’s thigh. The mattress sways with Arthur’s movements, the ropes creaking ever so slightly.

“I can feel you, Merlin,” Arthur grits out, his whole body shivering as Merlin swipes his thumb over the head of Arthur’s cock to gather some of the moisture there. 

“You feel amazing,” Merlin tells him, hoping against hope that Arthur might be able to hear him too. 

“We should see where else I can feel you,” Arthur says, as smile twitching up the corners of his mouth. “And, we should probably be naked for this.”

Merlin nearly falls off the bed scrambling up to his knees to strip off his shirt then wiggle out of his pants. Arthur, the pillock, manages to pull his nightshirt over his head and toss it aside in one swift movement that he barely moves for. 

He looks incredible sprawled out on his bed, right arm now tucked behind his head, muscles on full display, legs lazily parted, cock flushed and hard and pressed up on his belly. 

“Merlin, you’re going to have to touch me as I have no idea where you are,” Arthur growls looking right at Merlin’s cock, a smug smile playing over his lips that does very pleasant things to Merlin’s insides. 

“A likely story, your royal laziness, you just want me to do all the work as usual.” Not that Merlin has any problem at all with that.

Not this time. (There will be a next time, there has to be, there’s no way Arthur is doing this as a one off. Is there?)

“Merlin,” Arthur draws out Merlin’s name in a way that goes right to Merlin’s throbbing cock. 

In retaliation, Merlin flicks Arthur’s ear. The shudder that wracked Arthur’s body is not what Merlin was expecting, but something to keep that he’s going to keep in mind in the future. (Please let them have a future.)

“Left ear,” Arthur says, voice gravely. ‘Somewhere else.”

Merlin wants to bury his face in Arthur’s neck and feel his words.

This time it’s the gold that wisps over Arthur’s throat, pooling in the hollow between his clavicles. 

“Throat,” Arthur says. “I could barely feel you.”

Wanting to touch for himself, Merlin uses his index finger to circle Arthur’s right nipple before scraping his nale across his chest to flick the left. 

“Merlin!” Arthur gasps, back arching. Merlin wants to hear Arthur say his name just like that for the rest of his life. “I can’t feel you,well the warmth, against my side anymore.”

Shifting, Merlin rearranges himself on the bed so that he’s once again pressed along Arthur’s left side, his erection trapped between their bodies. The reality of the tease of the fine hairs on Arthur’s thigh have shivers chasing down Merlin’s spine. 

Taking a deep breath, Merlin wraps his hand Arthur’s cock, the tendrils of gold (his magic, him) do the same. 

“Cock,” Arthur chokes out, “Gods, you’re touching my cock!”

Merlin wants to laugh at the obviousness of that statement, but he can’t form words and still keep stroking Arthur. He might not be able to breathe in a moment. 

Pre-come glistens in the low light and Merlin wants to taste it, but worries that he won’t be able to and doesn’t think he can deal with that reality at the moment. Instead, his palm skims over the head of Arthur’s cock, gathering all his fluid to ease his way. 

There’s something about the gold tendrils that keep his hand gliding smoothly up and down Arthur’s cock; as if nothing else is needed to ease the way. Though, that doesn’t stop Merlin from slicking his palm with more pre-come moments later just to hear Arthur’s harsh inhale at the feel of it.

Arthur drops his hand down to his cock, covering Merlin’s, fingers insinuating themselves between Merlin’s so that they end up stroking Arthur together. The tendrils seem to twist and twine around their fingers, binding them together. 

“Gods, Merlin, this is the most incredible–” 

Whatever else Arthur was going to say gets cut off in a garbled moan when Merlin’s magic trails down to cup Arthur’s bollocks. Even though it’s not him exactly that’s doing it, Merlin can faintly feel the soft skin, the slight fuzz, how close to Arthur’s body they have drawn up. 

“Merlin, please.” Arthur gasps out, his grip tightening around his cock. “So close.”

Following Arthur’s lead, Merlin lets his hand close more firmly, speeding up their strokes. 

Guttural moans and curses are now spilling freely from Arthur’s mouth, his hips arching up into their fists. Every movement sends pleasure flowing throughout Merlin’s body and he doesn’t know if he’s going to be hold out long enough to see Arthur come. 

Biting his bottom lip hard enough to cause pain, Merlin shoves his own release back, determined to watch Arthur through his.

Helpfully, his magic decides to slide down the sensitive skin under Arthur’s bollocks.

Arthur arches off the bed, cock pulsing, mouth open in a silent shout as his orgasm takes him. As Merlin watches, come hits the exact spot his magic had pooled earlier.

“Oh, fuck,” Merlin moans, trying his best to keep his hand on Arthur as his body jerks and trembles through his release, the mattress swaying in tandem. The press and slide of Arthur’s thigh along with the reality of Arthur coming because of Merlin is nearly enough to send Merlin over the edge himself. All it would take is a stroke or two, even firm contact with Arthur’s thigh would probably work.

All too soon, Arthur collapses back onto the bed, the ropes groaning as if in sympathy, breath coming in heaving gasps. He lies there, shudders twitching up and down his body, sweat making his limbs gleam,come streaking his chest and belly, his cock still mostly hard held in their fingers with the faint gold glow. 

For a moment, Merlin’s own orgasm recedes and he watches in fascination as Arthur comes back to himself. 

“I wish I could see you,” Arthur says once his breathing is mostly under control. “I wish I knew for certain that this is what you want.”

“Clotpole,” Merlin says, love and affection filling him. “I’ve wanted this nearly from the first.”

“I can feel you,” Arthur says, voice uncertain. “Not the way I can your hand on my cock, but more the way I do sometimes when you smile at me, open and happy and some type of mischief I think I finally understand.”

“How can you be so smart and so incredibly thick?” Not that Merlin really has any defense that he’s never noticed before that Arthur wanted him back. Never before has Merlin so desperately wanted to kiss someone, but he doesn’t want the first time he and Arthur kiss to be a phantom touch and nothing more.

“The warm from before is back,” Arthur says quietly. “It makes me feel safe.”

Even if Arthur could hear him, words clog in Merlin’s throat so that all he can do is let out a soft sigh.

“I wish I knew if you were getting just as much out of this as I am,” Arthur says, gaze once again directed exactly to Merlin’s cock and all of Merlin’s need floods back into Merlin so swiftly he gasps. “I wish I could touch you too.”

Not knowing if it’ll work or not, Merlin gives a gentle tug, directing their hands, slick with Arthur’s come, to his cock. Both of them groan as their fingers wrap around Merlin’s throbbing erection.

“Gods, I can feel you,” Arthur says, stating the obvious in a way Merlin would mock if he could form any thoughts beyond his body’s need to come. Turning onto his side to face Merlin, Arthur starts to stroke up and down the length of Merlin’s cock. 

It’s a bit stuttering at first as both of them try and set the pace, but Merlin ends up having to follow Arthur’s lead to maintain contact. 

The warmth of Arthur, the knowledge that Arthur’s come is coating his cock, the disbelief that this is actually happening, that Arthur is stroking his cock, is muttering encouragements, is looking right at Merlin as if he can see him brings Merlin right to the brink of orgasm. 

“Arthur,” Merlin cries out in desperate need as Arthur adds a twist as hie strokes up.

“Merlin, come for me,” Arthur orders in a filthy tone.

Merlin is helpless to do anything except comply. Pleasure sings through his blood fiery hot and cooly sweet as his come shoots out, landing on Arthur’s chest. 

Love and want and need and desire crash together inside him as another wave of pleasure rocks through his system, hips jerking uncontrollably. Merlin has no idea where else his come lands as gold spots dance in front of his eyes before he’s forced to close them. 

Seasons might pass before Merlin manages to open his eyes, thoughts sluggish and stuttering to a stop as he takes in the sight of Arthur once again laying on his back, using his nightshirt to wipe off their mingled release. 

“Don’t get used to me doing the cleaning up,” Arthur grumbles with an affectionate smile. 

“Doing it once won’t kill you,” Merlin mutters in reflex, wishing that the could be the one doing the clean up. Preferably with his tongue. Then it hits him what Arthur had said, and hope takes root and blooms in Merlin’s chest.

They settle down under the covers, curled towards each other.

“I’m sorry for what I said,” Arthur says into the stillness of the night. “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you.”

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” Merlin says, sleep tugging at his body. “I’m sorry about so much. I never wanted to hurt you.” 

“We’re going to fix this,” Arthur says, the command and certainty of a king wrapping around the words. 

Merlin wants to mock Arthur’s arrogance, to say that magic doesn’t work by the will of a king, even if that king is Arthur and Merlin’s magic seems more than a little fond of Arthur. 

“I love you,” Merlin slurs as sleep pulls him under. Just before he fully succumbs, Merlin thinks he feels Arthur jerk a bit, then settle back down. Arthur may or may not be mumbling the words back to him (he’s definitely speaking softly, but Merlin can’t quite make out the words), but dreams have started and Merlin lets them take him.


End file.
